


We Could Live This Life Forever

by dearmrsawyer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoption, Foster Care, Harry is 16 and Louis is 17, Harry is an adopted child, Homelessness, Lady and The Tramp AU, Louis is a street kid, M/M, a warning there's a VERY MILD moment of domestic abuse, basically Harry is Lady and Louis is Tramp LOL, but they're all human, harry is slapped by a guardian figure, it's an extremely brief single instance but needs to be identified, just in case people want to be warned!!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/pseuds/dearmrsawyer
Summary: When Harry's adoptive parents bring home a brand new baby of their own, he fears they won't want him anymore.ALady and the TrampAU where everyone's human.





	We Could Live This Life Forever

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to include a disclaimer here that i do not have a thorough knowledge of the fostering/adoption system, and i didn't work _too_ hard to reflect reality as the goal here was following a similar story structure of the movie _Lady and the Tramp_. Reality only goes so far when you're trying to adapt a 1950s Disney film about dogs.
> 
> There are opinions expressed in this fic regarding the foster system that belong solely to the characters in the story, and do not reflect my views. 
> 
> IMPORTANT: I also want to note that there is a very mild instance of domestic abuse, in that Harry (a minor) is slapped by a guardian figure. Just in case that is difficult for anyone to deal with. If you want to know more so you can still read but avoid that scene hit me up on Tumblr! (link in the endnotes)
> 
> Thankyou to my betas Bel and Carlie for listening to me talk about this fic for so long and reading preliminary passages and then getting down to brass tacks when it came time to making it ready for public consumption.

All things considered, Harry lives a very fortunate life.

He has a roof over his head, warm clothes and a belly full of food every night. He knows he’d been granted an immeasurable kindness by the Twists six years ago, at the tender age of ten, but now there’s a tremor in his heart that makes him wonder if that’s all about to change.

Even from his bedroom Harry can hear the deep gong of the grandfather clock in the living room, and Harry checks the little alarm clock on his bedside table. 9:00 PM. Anne and Robin had left almost fourteen hours ago, and it’s been at least three hours since the last update.

In the other room, Aunt Sophie is back on her feet, her heavy heels temporarily dulled by the rug in the middle of the living room before they echo off floorboards again. She’s been up and pacing the room with every passing hour, and honestly Harry hasn’t been able to concentrate on anything else either.

It’s another twenty-three minutes before he hears the harsh ring of the phone and Aunt Sophie is on it before the bell sounds again.

“Yes? Hello?”

Harry presses his ear to the crack in his door, eager to hear more.

“The precise time? And Anne—? Oh yes, very good, so they’re both… that’s wonderful. Yes, I most definitely will. Give them my best, and you too dear, yes. Lovely, goodnight.”

Harry jumps back at the sound of the phone hitting the handle, and then the procession of heeled steps approaching his room before the door swings swiftly open. Aunt Sophie is still in her jacket, buttoned and tied around the waist as if she hadn’t even thought to remove it when she’d arrived that morning, and her hair is pulled back off her face into a twist that Harry knows runs halfway down her back. Her eyebrows are thin and perpetually pinched but her mouth is curved pleasantly, and Harry feels the corner of his mouth tic too.

“You have a baby brother.”

 

***

 

When Harry’s parents roll into the driveway two days later, new baby in tow, Harry is hovering nervously in the hall. He can see the dark shadow of their hulking black car through the glass bricks on either side of the front door, and the flash of Anne’s pale dress when she steps out. His breath comes quick and shallow, fogging one of the glass bricks.

Aunt Sophie’s heels click closer, signaled by the sound of the car engine, and she brushes past Harry to open the door. She’s down the steps and at Anne’s side in a blink, a hand to her cheek and another cradling the white swaddled bundle currently held fast to Anne’s chest. Robin is beside them, smiling and chuckling with an empty baby carrier in his hands before Aunt Sophie ushers them towards the house.

Harry instantly backs up to give the front door a wide berth, fingers twisting around each other and bottom lip pressed between his teeth. His heart is pounding faster than normal but the moment Anne is through the front door and her eyes land on him, widening around a smile, he feels his insides calm.

“Hello, Harry, love.”

Her voice is as warm as ever and it trickles into Harry’s heart the same way it had that first night they’d met, when Harry was tired and devastated and didn’t know there was anyone else who would love him again.

“Hi,” he answers, giving her a smile because he knows that’s what she wants to see. His eyes flicker to the bundle against her chest, held close with both her arms. She presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead; he’s grown so much she barely has to lean down anymore. He’s all limbs now, stretched and a little clumsy, and he often tries to hold himself in tight so he doesn’t do any unwarranted damage.

Anne just rubs affectionately at his cheek and then continues slowly down the hall towards the kitchen.

Aunt Sophie is next, shooting an errant glance in his direction before she follows Anne, and then Robin is bringing up the rear with his arms full. He has a bag over each arm and the baby carrier still in his hands, and he’s breathing heavily through a smile when he sees Harry standing there, bare toes squeaking, unsure, against the floor.

“Harry, lad.” He gives him a fond look as Harry steps forward and lifts one of the bags off his arm. “Cheers.”

Robin releases an overwhelmed sort of guffaw, his free hand briefly clasping the back of Harry’s head. And then he moves down the hall towards the cheerful voices filling the kitchen.

Harry feels like he should follow – wants to follow – but he isn’t sure he has a place in that room right now. He does feel a little better, having seen Anne and Robin—seeing the love on their faces that he hopes he returns, each and every time. It quiets his nervously fluttering heart for a moment. Unfortunately, the moment they’re out of his sight, his chest starts to weigh down all over again.

He can hear Aunt Sophie cooing in a strangely maternal manner he’s never associated with her before, and decides it’d be best if he let them be.

Retreating to his room, he leaves the door open a crack to hear Anne’s loving tone coo right back.

 

***

 

It’s summer, and Harry has little to fill his days other than sun and friends. He has quite a few in his class, but only two he’s managed to keep beyond the schoolyard, and luckily for him they live in his very own street.

Liam is his next-door neighbour, and has been since Harry came to live with the Twists. They first met when Harry was sitting on the front steps with a football in his hands and a great deal of sadness in his heart. He’d been humming a lullaby under his breath, something warm and familiar from his earliest memories, when a cheerful voice had called from over the fence.

A young boy, about his age with dusty curls and a red checkered plaid had his arms criss-crossed on the white picket fence between their yards. He was grinning widely, and he lifted one hand in a brief wave. Harry waved back, unsure of what else to do.

“Want someone to kick around with?”

Harry looked down at the ball in his hands and then back up at Liam’s kind eyes, and he was nodding before he’d even really thought about whether he wanted a playmate or not. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon kicking the ball back and forth over the fence separating their yards, until the sky was halfway to dark and Liam’s mum was calling him in. He’d thanked Harry for letting him play and thrown a “see you tomorrow!” over his shoulder before disappearing inside. Harry had turned back to what was now his house to see Anne leaning against the frame of their open front door, her mouth twisted happily but her eyes a little sad. She’d ushered him up, kissed his head and told him to clean up for dinner.

Harry and Liam had spent a lot of afternoons together since then, and most of them had been shared with Niall.

Niall lives a few doors down from Liam, and is great fun. He hadn’t asked for an invite the way Liam had. No, he’d seen them kicking their ball about one day and dived right in like he’d been there all along.

“This way!” a new voice had called when Harry slung his arm back, ready to toss the ball in Liam’s direction. Confused, he’d turned to see a boy with blond tips and bright blue eyes standing on the sidewalk outside Harry’s yard, both arms raised and feet bouncing in place.

Harry had looked at Liam, who had shrugged back, and obediently lobbed the ball in the new boy’s direction. He’d caught it, giving himself a raucous cheer and doing a quick lap on the spot, before demanding that Liam think fast before tossing it to him. Liam hadn’t thought quite fast enough, ducking instead of catching, and the ball had bounced off his shoulder, much to the new boy’s amusement.

This boy, Niall, had been part of their little group ever since.

Harry sees Niall and Liam almost every day, even during summer. They’re all taller now, their faces a little spottier, and Niall’s got braces. Liam’s shirts stretch at the shoulder where he’s built muscle from working out, but Niall and Harry are still wiry thin and probably not much stronger than they’d been when the all met.

It’s been two hours since Anne and Robin returned home, and they’ve been holed up in the living room after Aunt Sophie had shooed them out of the kitchen, insisting she make the tea herself.

Aunt Sophie had left half an hour ago, but Harry’s parents are still huddled around the new life they’ve brought back with them, and Harry is outside trying to feel like everything is as normal as possible.

The muted sound of baby cries drift out of the cracked living room window just to make sure he knows it isn’t.

Niall is running laps up and down the sidewalk in front of Harry and Liam’s houses, and Liam is across the street, jogging on the spot as he waits for Niall to throw the ball. Harry is by his own letterbox, trying to look involved even though his mind is precariously occupied.

Niall kicks the ball across the path to Harry. He gears up to send it flying over the road but Liam holds his hand up, jogging towards him as a car comes down the street. They all huddle up on the side of the road, the ball stationary under Harry’s foot, and wait for the sedan to move on. The second it’s gone Niall taps the ball out from Harry’s foot and dribbles it away, cackling.

“How’s Anne?” Liam asks, nodding his head towards Harry’s house. The cries are slowing, but still powerful.

“Good,” Harry nods, hoping his voice doesn’t waver. “Seems tired, but good.” He looks at his feet. “Happy.”

“Cool,” Liam says, and Harry can hear his grin.

“Makes a racket though, don’t it?” Niall adds, dribbling the ball back to Harry’s side. His brow is furrowed in disbelief; Harry can’t blame him – it’s been the same sound non-stop since Aunt Sophie left. Harry doesn’t know how a baby’s lungs are strong enough.

“Yeah, they do that,” Liam answers sagely.

Liam has a sister four years his junior, and Harry wonders how much he can remember from those early years. He never seemed worried whenever a heavily pregnant Anne came to offer them drinks in the hot summer – unlike Niall, who had constantly eyed her stomach like it was a sign of extra-terrestrial life. Niall has no brothers or sisters.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Liam asks.

“Boy. James,” Harry says, and Liam nods as if the name shows some sign of competent parenting.

“Probably not gonna get much sleep for a while,” Niall grimaces, and Harry gives half a smile at the notion that that’s the worst of his problems.

“Worth it though,” Liam says kindly, and Harry’s eyes snap towards him, wondering if he’s read the shift in Harry’s feet.

There’s a brief silence before Niall throws a rowdy punch into Liam’s arm and Liam squawks, chasing him down the road. Harry tries to forget his concerns and follow after them when a cornered Niall cries for help.

 

***

 

Harry lies on his stomach, a pair of headphones cushioning his ears as he absently scans the pages of the book in his hands. He’s been reading the same page for about ten minutes, still hasn’t taken in a word, and is about to start all over again when he lets his head drop to the paper with a sigh. The page is slightly textured against his cheek and he rubs against it gently, feeling it soak in the heat of his skin.

Dinner had been leftover casserole that Aunt Sophie cooked the night before, giving Anne a respite from the kitchen for a few days. Harry had briefly eaten at the table with Robin, before Robin had left his meal halfway through when the cries started up again. When he’d finished, Harry had taken Robin’s half-eaten dish and covered it with another plate until he could get back to it.

It’s been half an hour, and Harry hasn’t heard any steps leading back towards the kitchen.

Harry can’t concentrate on the words in his book or his headphones, all he can feel is the weight sitting in his stomach that predates dinner. He keeps thinking about Liam, about how he’d seemed excited on Harry’s behalf for the new baby, and how, when they’d parted ways earlier, he’d said he would like to come see James sometime. He said his mum would definitely like to as well.

There’s a little part of Harry that says he’s being irrational—that he isn’t giving Anne and Robin the credit they deserve after they took him in six years ago. There’s a part of him that says he should trust them enough to know that their love for him is no different today than it was the day before Anne gave birth. He really wants to believe that part.

But there’s another, much louder part that is terrified of what it means to have his adoptive parents bring home a child of their own. He didn’t spend much time in foster care before Anne and Robin took him in, but it was enough to imprint a few choice urban legends about adopted children being unloved once biological kids came into the picture. Harry had never met anyone who had been sent back from their adoptive family, but it wasn’t enough to stop the fear.

He remembers Anne’s face when she’d seen him that morning. She’d shown no signs of diminished love, neither had Robin. They hadn’t really spent any time with him since coming home, but Harry knows it’s unreasonable to hold that against them. They’d just brought a baby home, after all.

Harry realises, then, that the house is quiet – strangely quiet, considering there hasn’t been a moment of peace since that morning. He strains his ears for any signs of life, but there’s absolutely nothing. It seems that everything just adds to his nerves at the moment, and Harry stands up from the bed, padding slowly into the hall listening intently.

First, he goes to the living room, strewn with new baby gear, but nobody’s there. The kitchen is also empty, as he suspected, so Harry returns down the hall and past his room.

He pauses in front of the newly converted nursery and eyes the slim crack between the door and the frame. There’s a warm light inside, dim and slightly orange against the pale walls. Harry pushes the door lightly and it gives a few inches to reveal a sliver of the animal stickers decorating the wall, and the small loveseat in the middle of the room where Anne and Robin are sitting side by side, heads tipped together.

Harry is about to pull the door shut again but his foot steps on a loose board. He flinches at the creak but Robin turns around, smiling kindly when he spots Harry’s apologetic face in the door. He nods for him to come in.

Hesitant, Harry tip-toes inside, coming closer when Robin extends an arm. He reaches up to rest a hand on the small of Harry’s back, guiding him even closer until he’s standing by the love seat. James is sleeping peacefully in Anne’s arms.

He’s… tiny. Harry hasn’t had a good look at him yet—has been too distracted by how hard he’s working to temper his fears.

But it seems to drain away now, looking at this smooth, pale pink face wrapped in blankets. He has a light dusting of hair around the crown of his head, and thin lips naturally puckered under a tiny, pointed nose.

He’s so sweet, and Harry can’t help smiling, almost wants to laugh a little but keeps himself quiet for James’ sake.

Anne finally looks up at him, and her face is so warm and peaceful that Harry feels his lips stretch wider. It’s almost like he can feel the love in her heart, for both him and for James.

Robin’s hand remains still on his back, just settled, keeping him close.

Harry sees James shift and realises Anne is lifting her arms gently in a silent question. He momentarily freezes, unsure of what to do, but he feels himself nod before he’s actually made a decision and then Anne is standing up and stepping towards him slowly.

Robin nudges him forward, and then Harry’s arms are cradled out and ready as Anne rests James against his chest. He feels for her hands, replacing them with his own so he’s supporting the baby right.

Anne’s arms fall away and then it’s all him. It’s just him and James, and although the room is already silent, Harry feels like all the sound in the world suddenly drops away. It’s as if, even outside this room, there is nothing but peace, and everything is as soft as James.

Harry looks up at Anne, whose lips curve gently, and she tucks a loose strand of her own hair behind her ear before doing the same with one of Harry’s curls.

He can’t stop a quiet breath of a laugh from escaping, and Anne looks like she’s holding one back too. She leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead, and then to James’, and Harry isn’t sure why he’d been afraid of anything at all.

 

***

 

It’s been almost a month since Harry slept clean through a night.

He wakes every night at some point, whether it’s from James’ cries, Anne catching the loose board in the hall, or the creak that the door to the master bedroom has developed at the most inconvenient time. He can usually get back to sleep when Anne’s soothing lullabies drift down the hall and balance the early wake up with a morning lie in, but it’s putting something of a damper on his wild summer sleeping schedule.

And it’s definitely having an effect on Anne and Robin. Most mornings he finds one or both of them at the kitchen table with their eyes closed and a steaming mug of coffee at their lips. They’ve both taken to falling asleep whenever James does, keeping a spare blanket on the loveseat in the nursery or setting up the baby carrier by the lounge in the living room.

Harry’s actually gotten quite good at helping out. He doesn’t get to see Liam and Niall every day as he’s spending a lot more of his summer inside than he’d planned, but truth be told, he doesn’t really mind.

He holds James when the baby’s unsettled and Anne needs her hands free; he hangs out freshly washed onesies and baby blankets. He cooks on days when Anne’s just too busy and Robin doesn’t know what spices to add to the chicken, and he rocks the cot when Anne sings lullabies with her eyes closed and a cheek pressed to the arm of the loveseat.

But his favourite thing is holding James while he falls asleep. For the first few weeks he would only sleep in Anne’s arms; with time he grew comfortable enough with Robin, and soon after with Harry, as well. After he’s been fed and burped, Harry is always ready with eager hands, and he paces in small circles around the living room, arms lightly rocking until James’ eyes fall closed and his breathing evens out.

And it’s helping – not just Anne and Robin, who, despite their largely smooth transition into early parenthood, seem eager for all the help they can get. It’s helping Harry, too, because every time he feels that warm, gentle weight of James in his arms, or smells that strangely comforting smell of talcum powder and baby blankets, he feels a little less fear. He has it still, when he sees the way Anne looks at James in her arms, and he tries to find the same love in her eyes when she looks up at him. Sometimes he sees it and sometimes he doesn’t and he isn’t sure if he’s looking through a lens of fear; maybe he’s clouding something that’s always been there, and still is. Or maybe hope is showing him something that’s long gone. He tries not to trust that fear, and it’s slowly getting easier; with Anne and Robin around so much, the panic sets in on fewer nights.

It’s at one month, a week before Robin is scheduled to go back to work and two weeks before Harry returns to school, that Anne and Robin book an extended weekend getaway for a brief respite. Harry understands why he’s not coming, he does, and to be honest he’s a little relieved because he feels like James will need a familiar face around while their parents are away. But it does stir some of the anxiety he’s managed to talk himself down from for the past four weeks, and he worries that without Anne and Robin around to remind him with their loving eyes, he’ll forget again.

They’re all that connects Harry to James. They’re a bridge he depends on, because without them he isn’t sure he’ll still feel any sense of family. Without them, there is no family.

It’s appropriately gloomy on the morning they’re set to depart.

There are suitcases against the wall by the front door, and Anne’s heeled shoes echo through the house as she tries to account for everything they’ll need while away.

Robin is already outside preparing the car, and Harry can hear the repeated opening and closing of doors before he steps back inside with the base of the baby seat. They won’t be needing that on their trip.

Harry is on the couch in the lounge room and James is lying on his back beneath a baby gym, gurgling and kicking periodically. Harry jangles one of the chains hanging above his head, and James’ eyes are drawn to the rattle of a clear ball full of small, multi-coloured gems. The TV is playing behind them—some children’s program that James is definitely not old enough to appreciate, but still friendly to his eyes and ears. The characters are singing something cheerful, with irritatingly persistent percussion, but Harry’s managed to tune it out, more focused on trying not to dread the next few days.

Harry hears a car pull up in front of the house and swallows.

He can hear Anne calling out from the bedroom for Robin to open the door, and not a moment later Aunt Sophie is being invited inside, the waist of her coat cinched as tight as ever and her long braid whipping between her thin shoulder blades.

Aunt Sophie has almost become the fifth member of their household with how often she pops in. It’s what trails in after her that’s causing the bulk of Harry’s anxiety.

They sound as if they’ve got twelve legs between them as they rush into the house giggling and yelling, heard long before they’re seen. James gives a little whimper at the onslaught of sound and Harry picks him up, pressing him to his shoulder.

Tegan and Val, Aunt Sophie’s twin daughters, are three years younger than Harry and infinitely more difficult to handle. At thirteen, they’re full of energy, loud, inseparable, and, Harry suspects, telepathic. They always seem to know what the other is thinking, and this only aids them in their mischief.

Harry hasn’t spent much time with them since becoming part of Anne and Robin’s family. He sees them a few times a year at family gatherings, but rarely associates with them. He’s only had one significant run in with them in the six years he’s known them, and that had been a year after coming to live with Anne and Robin.

It had been a long time before Harry made friends in his new life. At eleven years of age, parentless and adopted, he had not yet met Liam or Niall, and he didn’t speak much in school. Anne had thought he may do well to get to know his cousins, and invited Aunt Sophie to bring the girls over for a ‘playdate.’ Harry thought he was either too young for anything that involved the word ‘date,’ or too old for anything that involved scheduled playtime with his peers. But the three guests had arrived, looking quite the perfect little picture.

At first they had seemed quiet, perhaps apprehensive like Harry, and as much as he hadn’t wanted to make new friends, he at least found comfort in the fact that he wasn’t the only one.

That had been short lived. Anne had insisted the three go to Harry’s room where they could bond. The moment their parents had disappeared back down the hall, the twins became something else.

Harry could barely keep them from all the places they ran to, pulling toys from his shelves, clicking around on his brand new computer, even pulling up the covers of his bed to snuggle down inside—shoes on.

Horrified, Harry had watched them inspect and pull apart every inch of his room. He’d been torn between which of them he should stop first, until Val got hold of his copy of _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_.

The moment he’d seen her hands on the worn binding he sprang forward with a cry, moving so fast that he pulled on her finger when he ripped the book from her grip. Val released an agonised squeal, cradling her hand to her chest just as he held the book to his own. He watched as she took a long, deep breath, and screamed.

Tegan had rushed over to her side and wrapped her arms around Val’s waist as she screamed—no tears, just piercing vocals—and not a moment later Anne and Aunt Sophie had rushed into the room like they expected a murder.

Val had recounted her side of events, Harry had been chastised for his rough behaviour (mostly by Anne) and disheveled room (mostly by Aunt Sophie). The girls had stayed huddled at Aunt Sophie’s side until they’d all left an hour later.

Harry thinks of his now-complete collection of Jules Verne books sitting lined up on the shelf above his desk, and resolves to hide it the second he’s able to give James back to Anne.

“Hello girls,” Anne chimes, taking a moment out of her sixth trip between the living room and the master bedroom to give them each a hug.

“Hello, Aunty Anne,” they answer in unison, and a shiver runs down Harry’s spine. He’s sure he sees them meet devious eyes over Anne’s shoulders, but he’s a little distracted by Aunt Sophie stepping into his field of vision, arms already reaching.

“Come, come, now,” she says, and for a brief moment Harry freezes, thinking she’s going in for a hug he’d rather avoid, but then James is being pulled from his arms and Aunt Sophie has the baby pressed to her chest. “There we are, how’s the little one doing?”

“He’s good,” Harry answers, knowing full well the questions wasn’t directed at him. He remains sat on the lounge and she faces Anne, who has one hand to Tegan’s cheek and the other resting on Val’s shoulder.

“He’s much bigger than even a few days ago,” Aunt Sophie remarks, and Anne seems to swell with pride.

“Yes, he’s been a hungry little thing.” She runs a finger down James’ plush cheek, her eyes softening in that way they always do when looking at him.

“Can’t overfeed a baby, that’s what I always say,” Aunt Sophie declares, bouncing him gently. “Let them eat all they want at this age.”

“Oh, he definitely gets all he wants,” Anne sighs through her smile.

Something lands heavily on Harry’s foot, distracting him from his momentarily self-pitying thoughts.

Val stands beside him, her bag firmly planted on his toes, and crosses her arms.

“Where am I supposed to put this if you don’t move?” she scowls, and Harry looks from side to side, at the expanse of free lounge space either side of him, as well as the rest of the living room floor, before looking back at her.

“Anywhere?” he suggests.

This doesn’t seem sufficient, and she instantly turns back to Aunt Sophie, her voice laced with helplessness. “Where am I supposed to sleep, ma?”

“You and Tegan will have the lounge room while we’re here, sweetheart, I’ve told you in the car. Go set up your things.”

Val turns back to Harry with a triumphant smile. He still doesn’t see how the spot of carpet hidden by his foot is the precise place her things must go, but he vacates the room just to be safe.

Robin, who finally seems to have run out of bags to load in the car, crowds into Aunt Sophie’s space to bid James goodbye.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Anne sighs, pressing a kiss to James’ forehead.

“The both of you need a respite if you’re not to go mad. First time parenthood can suck the life out of you.”

Harry tries not to look at Anne or Robin in case they humour the notion that they hadn’t been parents before James.

“He’ll be fine,” Aunt Sophie presses, and Robin rests a warm hand on Anne’s shoulder.

“Harry, love, we’ll see you in a few days,” Anne says, stepping around Aunt Sophie and into the hall. Tegan and Val are bickering behind him but Harry has no attention to spare as Anne wraps him up in the warmest of hugs. He clutches at the back of her dress and feels very much like he’s ten all over again. “Be good, and take care of James.”

Harry nods into her shoulder before she pulls back, tucking a curl behind his ear.

“Have a good trip,” he says. She smiles. With a hand lingering on his cheek, she finally steps away and then Robin is hugging him, one hand ruffling the back of his head.

“Man of the house, yeah?” he chuckles low in his ear.

When he pulls back, Harry’s shoulders shrug under his hands. “Like always, I guess.”

Robin’s eyes go wide and a laugh bursts out.

“True enough, lad.” His hand slips down Harry’s neck to clasp his shoulder. “See you later – we’ve left the number of the hotel on the fridge.”

Harry nods. His shoulder is cold without Robin’s hand there. He and Anne both give James a last glance before heading out to the car.

Aunt Sophie stands in the door, James bobbing lightly against her chest; Harry looks out the window instead. The SUV backs out of the driveway, honks once, and then disappears down the road. Harry’s still looking past the curtain.

 

***

 

It takes all of forty minutes for Harry to wish Anne and Robin hadn’t left.

James is down for a nap, so that side of the house is temporarily off limits. Harry’s room is on that side of the house, but apparently some quiet reading isn’t a good enough reason to breach the enforced shut down zone. Instead, he’s stuck in the living room with Tegan and Val.

They’ve successfully pulled all the cushions off the couches and instead layered them across the floor because the carpet wasn’t cushioning enough. When Harry had recommended just sitting on the cushions _on_ the lounge, Val had deemed his mainstream and unworthy of anymore of her attention.

So instead he’s sitting on the stripped lounge, watching Tegan push all the furniture off the edges of the rug to make more room.

She crosses the room and starts to shift one of the side tables, dropping the lamp and coasters onto the lounge beside Harry. He straightens the lamp’s shade and sits it on the floor, safe and away from danger.

“I don’t think you should do that,” Harry advises, reaching over to untangle the lamp’s wire, still wrapped around the table’s legs.

“I don’t think you understand how much room I need to sprawl,” Tegan counters from behind the lamp.

The twins whisper and giggle to each other as Harry’s eyes wander to the window. He sees a flash of sun-bright hair and smiles, jumping up to go find Aunt Sophie.

She’s in the kitchen, flipping through one of Anne’s oft-used cook books. She doesn’t look up when Harry enters the room.

He clears his throat a little, and her eyes flicker up and immediately back before she says, “We have words, it’s always best to use them.”

Harry almost pulls a muscle holding back his eye roll. “I was wondering if I could go play outside with my friends.” To keep her appeased he quickly tacks on, “Please.”

Harry has always been more than aware of the fact that she doesn’t consider him family, no matter how much his parents claim he belongs with them. Without them, though, Harry isn’t sure how much he belongs here at all, and considering his mounting insecurities over the last month, he’s not sure he has the strength to endure it.

“We’re having lunch in an hour.”  It sounds distinctly like a ‘no.’

“I’ll come back inside for lunch.”

Her eyes flick back up, and Harry maintains eye contact, doesn’t want to let her feel too much control over him. Anne hadn’t given any instructions regarding Harry’s time spent with friends, so he knows Aunt Sophie has no rules to fall back on.

“See that you do.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth flickers but he holds the smile back until he’s in the hall, forcing his feet into his shoes without undoing the laces.

He’s out the door as quick as lightning. He sees the twins spying on him through the window, but he couldn’t care less. He calls out to Niall, who’s dribbling a ball between his feet.

Niall throws his hands up, and Liam turns to give an equally pleased grin as Harry jogs closer.

“Wasn’t sure if you were coming out today, ‘cause of… you know.” Niall’s voice dips ominously; he pulls his mouth into a deep frown, stiffening his posture in a striking imitation of Aunt Sophie.

“Wasn’t sure myself,” Harry admits, flapping his hand in request of the ball. Niall kicks it lightly towards him, and Harry bounces it atop his foot.

“Is it alright so far?” Liam asks.

“Only been like an hour, so.” Harry kicks the ball a little higher, catching it. “Barely begun, really.”

“How long are they gone?”

“Four days.” It sounds like an impossible expanse of time when Harry says it out loud.

“Good luck to you, mate,” Niall breathes. Harry laughs, quick and humourless, and tries not to focus on that place deep inside where his walls are thinning.

 

***

 

After lunch, Harry asks if he can go back outside, but that’s apparently pushing it.

“I think once today is quite enough,” Aunt Sophie concludes, following the sound of James’ post-nap cries down the hall. Normally he’d join Anne to check on the baby when he woke up from a nap. Even when he’s scared, he finds comfort in tending to James at her side; he feels involved, included, and valuable within the new structure of their family. Without her here, he’s more than glad not to visit the nursery. It’s just one more reminder he doesn’t need, no when he’s on his own.

With Aunt Sophie locked away in the nursery, Harry figures he should check on the state of Anne’s living room. It’s not that she’s terribly fickle about the tidiness of her home; it’s more that Harry feels the house should be respected by guests.

The silence in the room is unsettling. At first, he thinks they’ve gone to cause havoc somewhere else, given that the padded floor is vacant. But then something moves in the corner of his eye and Harry turns to see Val standing on another of the side tables, three feet in the air. The glass doors to the display cabinet are open and she’s on her tip-toes, reaching for one of Anne’s very precious crystalline figurines on the top shelf. Tegan is standing at her waist, neck craning to see what Val’s got.

Harry releases what can only be categorised as a squawk, catching the attention of both twins. Tegan’s eyes go wide like she knows they’ve been caught red-handed, but Val just smiles, looking back at the delicate unicorn statue in her hand.

He doesn’t think about the fact that there’s a baby in the other room when he yells, “What are you doing?”

Val startles and rips her hand back so fast she knocks a glass sparrow off the shelf. It shatters on impact.

Tegan jumps back, knocking her arm into Val, who screams and wobbles on the table; she reaches for the glass shelves in front of her. Her death grip causes the shelf to pull from its slot and half a dozen more glass animals come tumbling down.

Harry’s at Tegan’s feet, only too late, as one of the figurines crashes on his head. He winces, blindly reaching up to his scalp where he feels the sharp prickles of glass in his hair.

His drops his eyes, dazed—glass is everywhere.

Val jumps down from the table, stepping toward Tegan, which is of course when Aunt Sophie appears in the doorway, James looking very distressed on her hip.

Harry is left in front of the cabinet, shattered glass on every side.

Val doesn’t miss a beat. “I just wanted to see the unicorn, he pushed me and knocked me and they all crashed!”

Her voice is almost a whimper, eyes shimmering with tears she’s managed to muster on demand. Tegan is holding onto her arm looking just as upset, and Harry feels red hot rise up inside him. They’re going to peg this all on him, like he wasn’t the one who walked in and found them breaking into Anne’s display cabinet.

“It looks like you got what you asked for then, doesn’t it, young man?”

Harry’s head whips around to see Aunt Sophie fixing him with a stern, yet almost smug expression. Almost as if she’s delighting in his just desserts, as it were.

“I didn’t push her, she opened the cabinet on her own!”

“He said Anne wouldn’t mind,” Val says.

“I’d expect you to know full well how much Anne treasures her little figurines,” Aunt Sophie tells him. “They were gifts from many of the people she loved, including me.”

“I know how much she loves them! I would have never opened the cabinet.”

“I don’t think Anne raised you to be a liar.”

Harry turns to face her head on, face scrunching up in anger. “I’m not lying!”

“Enough of that,” Aunt Sophie snaps. Little James’ face twists at her harsh words. “Now you’re to go wash that glass out of your hair, and then I want you back here with the vacuum until all those shards are gone. I think you’ll be the one to tell Anne exactly what happened.”

“Oh, I will,” he mutters, too low to be heard, while Aunt Sophie ushers the girls into the kitchen. Once Aunt Sophie is faced the other way, they turn back in unison. They flash him matching victorious grins, and then flounce off after their mother.

Harry wants to pick up one of the remaining glass statues and throw it forcefully against the opposite wall. Instead, he hops around the glass on his toes, trying not to slice open his heel.

After he’s washed his hair free of glass and bandaged a few cuts on his fingers, Val knocks on his door, happily informing him that he’s been confined to his room. She’s all teeth as she turns away, beaming and skipping back down the hall. Harry almost slams his door, catching it at the last second and shutting it easily before flopping back onto his bed.

It hasn’t even been a day and already Harry is desperate for Anne and Robin to come back home.

 

***

 

Harry is flat on his back with a book suspended over his head. The sky is scattered with rosy hues, streetlamps flickering on one by one outside his window.

Steps approach in the hall but there’s no knock this time; Val opens the door wide and stands in the frame, one ankle crossed over the other. Harry gives as obvious a sigh as he can before he lowers the book to his chest and fixes her with a blank stare.

She just smirks.

“What?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird they never gave you their name?”

Harry doesn’t follow for a second, sees no link between his question and hers, but he cottons on just as she goes to continue.

“I mean, it’s so obvious to anyone that meets you that you’re not theirs, and they didn’t even bother to change that. Figured it was easier that way maybe. Or maybe they just didn’t want to give you their name.”

Harry’s heart picks up.

Its surreal, hearing the words so often whispered in his head in the dead of night now outside himself, being spoken to him by someone else. He fingers clench around the edges of his book.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he says, but his voice is too soft and Val feeds off it. She grins.

“James is a Twist, like their son should be. You’re not their son though.”

“Yes, I am.” He doesn’t hear his own words clearly enough to tell if he managed to keep the tremor out.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Val shrugs. Harry swings his legs off the bed, needing to move just to do something, just so he’s not still as his fears push up towards the surface. He wants to shout, to scream at her that she’s wrong, that his name is in honour of his dead parents, not a rejection from his living ones, but he isn’t sure he believes it himself. His lips part but nothing comes out.

Val smiles a little brighter. “Dinner’s ready,” she says, before disappearing back down the hall.

Harry stays on his bed, hands shaking, jaw clenching. He’s alone again but Val’s words linger, filling his room like a noxious gas, expanding to fill every available crevice until it’s all he can breathe. It crawls inside and turns his stomach, makes him feel sick.

She knew—just by looking at him, she could read every insecurity he’d been carrying for the last month, the last six years. He pulls his legs up, wraps his arms around his knees and tries to hold himself together, tries not to let anything else from inside him spill out.

He takes deep breaths, trying to stem the flow of panic swelling in his throat. He eyes wash across his room, taking in his wardrobe, his desk, the unkempt pile of books from before summer that he still needs to sort through. One of his notebooks is sitting atop the pile, its corners frayed and coming apart from the binding. In the bottom righthand corner is a small label. _Property of: Harry Styles_.

When James grows up, Harry thinks, his throat closing back up, his books will read _Twist_.

It’s a few minutes before he goes out to dinner. He eats less than half of what’s on his plate and then buries himself back in bed to try and suffocate everything in his mind. It doesn’t work, and his pillow is wet before he finally falls asleep.

 

***

 

That night, Aunt Sophie takes too long to tend to James’ cries.

Sitting at his desk, Harry starts to feel guilty, so he relents, makes his way into the nursery when no one else does.

James is squirming in his crib, his blanket loose and askew. He’s so small in the middle of his crib, so much excess space around him, giving him room to grow.

Anne taught Harry about how babies like to be swaddled tight, with the blankets wrapped as close to their bodies as possible. Harry reaches down and tucks the blanket in so James resembles a cocooned butterfly, only his pink little face peeking out above the fold.

He still sound distraught, whimpering and shifting around. Harry follows what he’s seen Anne do and picks him up, making sure the blankets stay tight and holding him close to his chest. He can smell that distinctly fresh baby smell as he tucks James’ head under his chin, and then he begins to rock.

It’s easy to find a rhythm once you get going, and Harry paces back and forth, gently swaying them both to try and impart some comfort. But James is still fussing, won’t settle down, and Harry doesn’t remember Anne doing anything else. This always worked, every time. The only difference is, well, he’s not Anne.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, swaying a little faster, changing the tempo. James keeps crying into his shoulder, just getting louder now, and Harry starts to feel sick. James isn’t responding to him and it’s like he _knows_. He knows that this isn’t Harry’s place.

All his progress since James came home, all the assurances he told himself each night before bed, it all evaporates. He feels like he’s been playing house, like he’s just been fooled into thinking he would ever really make sense here.

“Give him here,” Aunt Sophie demands, gliding in just as Harry’s hands start to shake.

He hands the baby over, relieved, and hurries out of the nursery.

It’s barely a minute before James quiets down, but it’s a lot longer before Harry’s heartbeat smooths out.

 

***

 

At breakfast the next morning, the twins are already sitting side by side at the dining table, matching bowls of cereal in front of them.

As Harry grabs an apple, Aunt Sophie walks in, James in her arms, and announces they’re going on a trip to the park.

“Time to give this child a little fresh air and some excitement while his family is away.”

Harry expects a flurry in his chest at the suggestion that he isn’t a lingering member of James’ family, but instead his heart beats to the slow, steady pace of agreeance. He watches James suck at his bottle and doesn’t feel the warm rush Anne had taught him—doesn’t feel any of the affection he’d built over the past month of holding him, of helping with his care. He looks at James and sees exactly what Val had said last night: he sees a child from someone else’s family.

He tries not to feel a bit sick over that thought, and forces the rest of his apple down before going to get dressed. He throws on loose jeans and a tee before Aunt Sophie appears at his door, ushering him out like he’s holding them up from a pressing engagement.

Just before he gets into the backseat (Tegan claims the front, much to Val’s vocal chagrin) he sees a familiar crown of blonde hair a few yards down. Niall catches his eye and throws up a friendly hand.

 “Can I—” Harry starts, before backtracking to formalise his request as she’d expect. “Would it be okay if I hung out with my friends, while you all went to the park? Please?”

Aunt Sophie’s keys jangle as she swings around, nose sharp and lips thin. “You can spend time with your friends for an hour when we return this afternoon. But when I leave the house, you’ll stay with me.”

“But Anne and Robin don’t mind if I stay here when they go out.” He knows answering back is a cardinal sin in his Aunt’s books, but quite frankly he’s had a sick feeling in his stomach all morning and feels a little like he might cry at any given moment. It’s all a bit melodramatic until he sees Val in the car, who’s smiling the same smile she’d worn last night in his doorway.

“They gave me no such instruction, so where I go, you go.”

Her door snaps shut and he slumps, drawing his shoulders in so he’s not pressing on James’ baby seat. He sees Niall and now Liam watch them drive off, disappointed, and resists the urge to press his hand against the back window like he’s seen in movies.

They end up a little outside town. Harry isn’t very familiar with the area, but knows it’s closer to where Aunt Sophie and the girls live as there are markers he remembers from the few visits he, Anne, and Robin have made in the last few years. They pass a mall with a large red tree for a logo, and a train station a few stops away from his local. Val and Tegan sing along obnoxiously to the radio with James blubbering discontentedly beside him.

It’s warm under the sun, so Harry ties his jacket around his waist. The parking lot is full, cars of all shapes and sizes occupying every spot, and Harry can hear the mingled cries of fun where the grass stretches out, soft and lush.

Tegan and Val don’t rush off to the little playground sitting neatly in the middle of the park, but instead press their shoulders together and skulk around the outside as if stalking their prey.

Harry makes a conscious decision to move in the other direction, following Aunt Sophie. James is gurgling excitedly in her arms, head cradled against her neck. His eyes are thin against the bright day and Harry isn’t sure what Aunt Sophie thought he’d get out of this trip. A one-month old would probably appreciate the sun just as much from the front verandah as he would from a well-maintained park.

Aunt Sophie finds a bench, setting the nappy bag down beside her and letting James rest on her lap. The children on the playground yell out to each other, squealing and dashing past, and Harry is sure it’ll only be a matter of time until James decides it’s a little too much. The first time Robin had taken James outside, Harry had stood between him and a sparrow idling on the fence, unwilling to take chances with any of the unpredictable variables of the outside world. Robin had chuckled and ruffled his hair, promising he’d only give it five minutes.

But now, it’s not that Harry doesn’t care about James, it’s just that he doesn’t want to care quite so much. Not if he isn’t even family.

Harry sits himself down on a separate bench and kicks at the chipped wood under his feet. He doesn’t like this unsettled feeling in his chest, this space that’s opening inside like there’s a gaping spot behind his ribs that he doesn’t have the power to fill. It’s always there, that spot, stitched haphazardly to try and keep the fears at bay. There are times when it feels fortified, double stitched by Robin’s comforting hand and Anne’s warm eyes, strong enough to hold everything inside him closed. He doesn’t feel like that today though – hasn’t felt that way since Anne and Robin decided to go on their trip. The seams feels like they’re growing evermore tenuous.

And he’s felt this before, this empty swell in his chest, before he’d found Anne and Robin, before he’d been invited into a family after having lost his own. He can hear Aunt Sophie fussing with James in his peripheral and he feels so completely separate from it, like there’s no tether between him and them – because there isn’t. The only tether he ever had was with Anne and Robin, and it doesn’t stretch as far as they’ve gone.

The next time he looks up, Tegan and Val are swinging side by side in the swing set on the playground, and there are two young boys who look a little teary standing off to the side. Harry rolls his eyes, pushing himself up off the bench.

“I’m going for a walk,” he mutters to Aunt Sophie as he passes.

“Excuse me?”

“A walk. I’m going for one, just around the park.”

“Only where I can see you, please.”

He rolls his eyes when she can’t see and kicks a pebble as he starts his round of the grounds. There are mini goals on opposite ends of the grassy field and he thinks this would be a nice place to bring Niall and Liam one day. He’ll have to pay more attention on the drive home so he knows where it is.

Tegan and Val are still on the swings and there’s a small collection of kids wishfully loitering around the edge. They get their chance when the twins decide they’ve had enough, crowding in when the swings are free. It only lasts a few minutes, before the girls want back in and Harry notices Aunt Sophie isn’t paying them a modicum of attention. A few of the other children have run back to their parents, visibly upset.

Harry balls his fist, making a sharp turn and heading straight for the swings.

He stops in front of them, mere centimetres from Val’s toes as she swings forward. “Can’t you let some of the other kids have a turn?”

“We did,” Tegan giggles, rocking herself higher.

“For more than two minutes. It’s a public park and you’ve basically monopolised it.”

“If they want to play, they can go on the see-saw,” Val waves her hand.

“They’re like six, can’t you just let them have a go?”

“We’re not done!”

And suddenly Harry’s had it. He steps forward and grabs the chain on Tegan’s swing, causing her to rock awkwardly.

“Get off me! I’m swinging, leave me alone.”

“Stop being such a brat, you know you’re hogging the swings!”

She stands up and pulls the swing out of his grip, holding it out so no one can ride it.

“Leave—me— _alone_!” she screams. Her voice reaches a pitch that Harry has learnt doubles for Aunt Sophie Activation, and sure enough, they’re soon joined by the parental component of this little outing.

“Why are we causing such a scene?” Her voice is clipped and forcibly civil, no doubt trying to minimise the number of eyes on them.

“Harry won’t let me swing,” Tegan whines, jangling the swing’s chain petulantly.

“Are you truly incapable of a few well-manner hours outside the house? You’re causing unnecessary chaos.” She fixes Harry with the glare he knows she’s always holding back in Anne’s presence, but Harry’s had enough. He’s given her the respect she expects and it’s earned him nothing, so he’s done.

“Your daughters are the ones causing chaos. They’ve kicked everyone else off this very _public_ swing set since we got here. You’d have known that if you bothered to actually watch them.”

Aunt Sophie’s eyes flash dangerously and she takes a step forward. James is pressed to her shoulder, looking away.

“I don’t know what kind of manners my brother’s been teaching you for the last six years, but I’ll have you speak to me with respect, young man.”

“The second you treat me with some respect, I’ll hand it right back,” Harry spits.

She grabs his arm, hard, and he can feel her nails cutting in through the shirt of his sleeve as she tries to pull him from the swings. He wrenches his arm, but it just causes her nails to dig in deeper, and he sees that she almost loses her balance for a split second. Her eyes go wide and fearful for only an instant, glancing at James in her right arm; the moment she regains her footing she lets go of Harry’s arm and there’s a sharp crack across his cheek.

It takes him a moment to register what just happened. His head slowly turns back to see Aunt Sophie’s hand slightly extended, and her eyes are two-toned, seemingly unsure of whether to project resolve or remorse.

His cheek stings, he can feel the four contact points of her fingertips, and even the twins are silent.

And then he’s running, his feet carrying him away even as he hears Aunt Sophie’s distinct shouting behind him, louder as he gets further away. He turns a corner and everything becomes muffled, and then he can’t hear anything at all except the dull thud of his feet against the ground pounding in his ears.

He has no idea where he is, doesn’t know these streets, but it doesn’t matter. There’s energy in his veins and he needs to keep moving because his velocity is the only thing keeping him in one piece and if he slows down he might fall apart.

There are other people on the street, faceless, little more than a blur as he rushes by, turning corner after corner as everything becomes increasingly foggy, and he realises it’s because there are tears building in his eyes, streaking his cheeks as the air whips his face. He starts to heave, his chest getting tighter and his legs are burning, but he keeps pushing, has to get as far away as he can. Has to keep going. Has to, has to, has to.

It’s not until he finds himself abruptly faced witha dead-end alley that he stops, staring dowm a chain link fence piled high on either side with rubbish, sodden cardboard boxes and bins tipped on their sides. It’s dank, and the sun only reaches in a few feet before it’s cut off by the side of a building, leaving most of the alley in darkness. He stops so suddenly that he wavers on his feet, his body catching up with the fact that he’s no longer moving, and his soles still vibrate with the urge to move.

The longer he stands in place, the more he can feel himself grow sluggish, syrupy, like the motion has been stripped from his body. His legs wobble and he’s still breathing hard, starting to feel the cold of tears on his cheeks.

Harry presses a hand to his heart to try and slow its beat. He can still hear Aunt Sophie’s voice in his head. He doesn’t know how long or how far he’s run, or where he is, but he almost doesn’t care because he’s just trying to breathe again.

In and out, staggered, as if the air in his lungs is heavy. Harry hasn’t felt this way in years, not since the first few months after Anne and Robin adopted him, and he used to wake in the night sweating and shaking until Anne would talk him down with kind words and a warm hand pressing his head to her chest—but he can’t think of that now, because that’s not real. That’s family, and the promise of belonging, and he doesn’t have that. All he has is a revolving door of people who promise to be there for him, and then leave him behind.

His cheeks aren’t so cold anymore, but when he swipes a hand across his skin he feels new tears; the warmth overrides the dried streaks underneath. He presses his palms to his eyes, trying to lock the tears inside and stop them from falling, and he takes one deep, shuddering breath to try and get his chest to expand—

“You lost?”

Harry whips around on the spot, his vision blurred from the heavy press of his hands. He can make out two figures at the mouth of the alley, a few metres behind him, but it takes a moment for them to come into focus. It takes long enough for the one who spoke to ask again, “Hey, mate, you looking for something?”

Harry swipes at his face again, and now he can see the two smirking faces looking him up and down. One of them has smoke rising from his lips, clouding a thin face and thinner eyebrows. The other is wearing a baseball cap, which shadows everything but the ugly curl of his lips.

They’re tall, a little gangly but solid, and dirty. Their clothes are faded and patchy with filth, and Smoke is wearing mismatched shoes. Their slouched posture isn’t one of defeat but complacency, and Harry instantly gets the feeling that they’re capable of more than they seem.

“No,” he answers. His voice scratches a little, but he doesn’t clear his throat.

“Looks like you aren’t sure where you are,” Baseball Cap says, and Smoke laughs, quick and obnoxious. Harry drops his gaze and moves towards the street. They step sideways, narrowing his exit, and Harry slows, trying to inch his way out and avoid their eyes.

“You got any cash on you?” Smoke asks, and Harry instantly answers, “No,” even though he can’t remember whether he’s got his wallet or not. His thoughts are locked, all he can think is that he really wants to get away from here.  

“Dunno, look like you’re doing alright with those slacks.”

Harry speeds up, resolutely trying to ignore them like he was always taught to do with strangers and bullies on the playground, but these boys are persistent and they swoop in to block his exit. Baseball Cap grabs him by the arm and Harry tries to rip it from his grasp but Smoke grabs him from behind.

“No!” Harry shouts, kicking back. He catches a knee, and there’s a sharp curse. He throws out his fists, feels one connect, but the other misses and he loses his balance for a second.

One of them grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling him back.

“Get off me!”

Harry tumbles, and the three of them scuffle for a moment as the two try to keep Harry still. He punches frantically, trying to land a hit, any hit, but he’s never been in a fight before. He doesn’t know how to anticipate someone’s moves, or craft his own. He catches a fist to the side and yells as much and as loudly as he can, but there’s no one walking past the alley or coming to check.

His throat burns again but he doesn’t want to cry – doesn’t want to do anything other than get away, so he throws his hand out and prays it’ll make contact with absolutely anything. It does, catching a nose.

The sharp sound would be sickening, but Harry doesn’t have time to dwell—the hands on him loosen just enough that he can wriggle free and crawl back onto his feet. Then he’s running all over again.

Harry doesn’t spare a second to glance over his shoulder but he knows they’re following him, can hear their voices.

Their footsteps push Harry on. He runs and runs, no matter how his legs burn. His pause in the alley was just enough time for an ache to seep into his muscles, and it’s threatening to pull him to the ground at any second, like his legs will simply give out. He prays they don’t.

“Where you going?” one of them yells. They’re laughing, taunting as they easily keep pace. Harry feels a snatch at his back and almost trips trying to outrun it.

He still doesn’t know where he’s going, dodging between pedestrians and dashing across a road even though the light’s red. A sob pushes out from between his lips.

In a way, he knows it’s inevitable. He doesn’t know his way around, and he can only turn so many blind corners before he rounds another one and it’s another alley. This time he’s truly stuck.

He turns around as the pair of following feet thunder to a stop, and then there are two sneering, familiar faces behind him, backing him into the shadows. They’re sweating and panting a little, but they don’t look like their chests are caving in. Harry’s is. He takes a step back, and then another, and his legs are so unsteady that he almost wobbles to his knees.

“Wanna try this again?” Smoke says.

His heart is still pounding so hard and the energy settles in his hands, which ball into loose fists.

They laugh, creeping forward, giving him just enough time to feel how futile this is going to be.

They rush at him, Baseball Cap going for his arms while Smoke tucks a punch into his chest. Harry jerks, tries to reach forward enough to land a punch of his own, but this time they know he’s got no instincts and overpower his easily.

He trips back, landing hard on his tailbone. He pulls his hands over his face, waiting for them to rip his up, but they never come.

The cruel laughter stops, is replaced by a surprised cry and a grunt, and Harry opens his eyes to find the thugs aren’t coming at him. They’re not even looking in his direction.

They’re faced the other way, all their attention focused on another boy, smaller than both of them but somehow able to cause enough damage that they’re having a much harder time than they did with Harry.

 The boy’s dressed in clothes just as marked up as theirs, thin arms poking out of his baggy sleeves, and Harry thinks he sees the flash of a scowl on his face but everything’s moving a little too fast. He can’t see the scuffle clearly, not from where he’s fallen in amongst the boxes. He tucks himself behind one of the flaps, trying to regain some semblance of safety.

There’s a lot of groaning and a few cracks; the two thugs are loud, swearing and threatening, but the third boy doesn’t say anything, just buries himself between them until they’re somehow all switched around. The thugs are moving towards the mouth of the alley while the third boy now has his back to Harry.

They throw a few more well-aimed curses his way, straightening out their clothes as Baseball Cap wipes at his lip.

When they disappear around the corner, it’s just Harry and the third boy left. He’s a little hunched and breathing heavily. All Harry can make out from his position is the boy’s feathery hair, sticking up in all directions.

Harry’s still half tucked behind the boxes when he turns around. For the first time, Harry’s able to get a clear look at him. He’s face is sharp, defined and… beautiful. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes sweep the end of the alley before they spot Harry. When they do, the crease in his brow softens.

“You alright?” His voice has a gentle rasp to it.

“Y- yeah.”

Harry tries to stand but his legs still feel unsteady and his hands shake as he presses them to the ground for leverage. The boy steps forward and offers one of his own slight hands. Harry takes it, feeling a rough palm beneath his. In a second he’s on his feet, held steady by the shoulders.

“Thanks,” he swallows¾for helping him to his feet, for what felt like saving his life, all of it.

“No problem, mate. Those two’re always knocking smaller ones around. Don’t mind the opportunity to give ‘em a knock back.”

He speaks so easily compared with Harry’s tight throat, and in lieu of responding, Harry just focuses on brushing himself down to give his hands time to stop shaking.

“’m Louis, by the way.”

He offers his hand and Harry finally meets his eyes. They’re standing in the shadow of the alley but Harry’s sure they’re blue, outlined by thick eyelashes and dusted by his fringe. His lips spread wide, offering a smile as his cheeks bunch up on either side, and Harry’s never seen a smile like that before.

“Harry,” he answers, and inexplicably offers his hand to Louis for a second time. Louis’ eyes drop to give him a once over, and Harry feels suddenly self-conscious of his lanky limbs. They knock together, too much body to manage even when he isn’t shaken. He feels inelegant compared to Louis, who has such a handle over his own body that he could to fight off two boys. He’s lithe and lean and stands with his legs apart, sure of himself. Harry’s eyes trace up his arms; they’re skinny, fine-boned, almost graceful. Harry wonders if the skin there is softer than his palm.

He looks young, maybe only a year older than Harry, but he’s a few inches shorter.

Harry realises he’s been staring and heat spread across the back of his neck, but Louis’ eyebrows dip slightly.

“You’re not a street kid, are you?”

“Um, no I—I don’t live around here.”

Louis nods, and a change comes over his face. Harry isn’t entirely sure what to make of it, but Louis goes on. “I know most of us. Did they lift anything off you?”

Harry pats his pockets but he’s sure by now that he didn’t have his wallet and there was nothing to take, other than a pack of gum which seems to be right where he left it.

“No. I told them I didn’t have anything but they…”

“Doesn’t really stop that lot,” Louis scoffs. “So where are you from, then? What were you doing in an alley?”

“They chased me here. I live on the other side of town, I don’t exactly—I don’t have any idea where I am, to be honest.”

Louis quirks his head a little. “Did you come here with anyone?”

“I was with my aunt but—” Everything that happened with Aunt Sophie had almost washed away beneath the chase, but as his heart rate finally starts to even out he’s reminded of that gaping space in his chest that had first sent him running.

“Where’s your aunt now?”

Harry swallows. “We were at a park but—I left and I don’t know… I don’t know where I am or where the park was.” He’s starting to well with panic a little when he realises just how lost he is.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Louis placates, holding his palms out to try and calm Harry, who obviously looks like he feels—inching towards tears. “I know all the parks around here, we can go look, I can take you back to your aunt—”

“No!”

It bursts from his lips so abruptly and Louis’ face slackens in surprise. Harry’s hands are instantly fisted. The scare still sits in his bones, but there’s only one thing he can think of that’ll make the entire day worse, and that’s having to go back with Aunt Sophie.

“I can’t go back,” he says, softer. “I don’t belong there. I’m… not supposed to be there.”

Harry’s looking right into Louis’ eyes, trying desperately to get his message across without having to say more. He’s waiting for Louis to ask for more, to expect an explanation, but instead he nods and claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“How do you feel about Mexican?”

Harry gapes, stutters out, “It—it’s good,” and then Louis has a hand between his shoulders, steering them out of the alley.

And Harry knows that he has no idea who Louis is. He knows that fighting off some bullies doesn’t mean Harry should follow him into strange streets all alone. But the only alternative is going back to Aunt Sophie, and Harry is not going to do that. So instead he nods along as they step back out into the sun and turn right, Louis stepping lightly beside him.

 

***

 

It’s been two hours and Harry is sitting at a booth in a sunny Mexican restaurant with a plate of nachos half eaten in front of him. Louis is trying to pull out one of the chips from the bottom, despite it being soggy, causing all the crispy chips to fall off the side of the dish and onto the dirty table, rendering them inedible.

Harry has only had a few himself. He still feels a little sickly and unsure of what exactly his feelings are adding up to inside. But thankfully he doesn’t need to spend time trying to figure it out, because Louis is without a doubt the loudest, brightest person Harry has ever met – and he is an excellent distraction.

Louis’ legs are tapping out a rhythm against the bottom of Harry’s seat, occasionally knocking his foot, and each time Louis give him a mischievous smile that makes Harry think he’s testing to see how many times he can get away with it.

Harry has no intention of setting a limit.

He alternates between whispering secret plots to get a bean from their nachos into the plate at the table next to them, and laughing at his own stories so raucously that they attract looks from the other patrons in the restaurant. Harry doesn’t normally like to be the centre of attention, but sitting across from Louis makes it feel okay. It’s hard to believe he hasn’t known Louis his whole life.

“So what’s the deal with your aunt?”

And the question is so out of left field that Harry almost bites his tongue. He’s barely done laughing at Louis trying to flick crumbs at the waiter each time he walks past, but it’s cut short when he looks back to see Louis considering him quietly. He’s sucking on his milkshake, his cheekbones sharper and mouth a perfect little ‘o’ around the straw. His skin is so warm and his lips the softest petal pink. There’s so much colour to him; Harry feels a little warm having Louis look at him like that.

Harry straightens up, shifting so his feet are planted flat on the ground, and swirls his straw around.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s alright.”

They’re quiet for a few seconds before Louis throws one shoulder up, then picks up another bean and positions it between his fingers. He closes one eye, aiming carefully, and Harry flinches when the bean sails over his head and there’s a _plop_ behind him. Harry looks over his shoulder with wide eyes to see a balding man in the booth behind them peering into his glass curiously.

They stay another ten minutes, before Louis decides there are probably too many beans spread about for them to fly under the radar any longer.

“You wanna head outside and I’ll be out in a tic?” Louis says, straightening up from the booth and tipping his head towards the door.

“Oh, uh, sure.”

Harry watches Louis make towards the bathroom while he walks out the door, stepping back onto the street. It feels off, spending a moment in this strange place without Louis. This new acquaintance is his only tether to all these unfamiliar places, and on his own Harry almost feels like he shouldn’t be here.

He’s only alone for a few seconds before Louis slips out the door and grabs Harry by the arm, urging him on. They walk quickly down the street to the sound of _go, go, go_ under Louis’ breath, and Harry’s not sure what they’re doing but the second they round the corner Louis lets go of him and then it’s back to their easy pace.

“Haven’t been there in ages,” Louis muses, patting his belly. “Not as much fun when you don’t have company.”

Harry smiles a little when Louis bumps their shoulders together. Has it really only been two hours?

“Where are your other friends?”

It’s almost as if Louis dims for a second, the light dropping out just a bit.

“Not really around so much,” he says, not looking at Harry even though Harry’s still looking at him. Harry wants to ask _why not, where did they go, why would they want to leave you_ , but suddenly he’s working a little harder to keep up with Louis’ broadening step and Harry gets the feeling he probably shouldn’t ask.

“Is that your favourite place?” he asks instead, hoping to bring Louis’ light back. It isn’t an instant fix, there’s residual dimness in his expression, but his features do flicker, animated once more.

“Mmm, nah, got a few other hot spots. Definitely the easiest lick it and split it in town, though. They’re never watching.”

“Wait, you didn’t pay?” Harry stops, but he’s nudged forward by someone behind him on the busy street. Louis is looking at him, a little confused, and waits until Harry’s slow steps catch him back up.

“Obviously, mate. Where’d you think I’d get the cash for that?”

“But—” And Harry’s heart is pounding all over again, because he just committed a crime—or, at least, became an unknowing accomplice. Could people go to jail for skipping out on the bill? Could kids? “Why’d we go there if we couldn’t pay?”

“How else am I s’posed to eat, you noodle?”

“Couldn’t you just wait ‘til you got home?”

This time it’s Louis’ turn to stop – dead on the pavement. No one runs into him like they did Harry. They swerve either side of him, keeping what appears to be a deliberately wide berth. Louis’ face is blank, tinged with worry, and maybe even an undercurrent of fear. He takes a few slow steps to get himself back in front of Harry, and looks up at him.

“Did you not… you know I’m... a street kid, right? Like—like those guys who chased you down before. I—I’m like them.”

The first thing Harry wants to do is assure Louis that he is in no way like the boys who had chased him earlier. But then he remembers their filthy clothes and he’s looking at Louis, whose clothes look like they haven’t had a wash in as many months as Harry’s been sixteen, and he remembers Louis using that word before—asking if Harry was one. He’d been too caught up in the adrenaline and the fear and he hadn’t fully processed what he’d said, but now he’s hearing it properly, and he understands.

“You’re homeless?” he blurts out before he has a chance to filter it with some tact.

Louis chuckles, almost a little world-weary. “Guess it depends how you look at it, but I don’t have a home the way you’re thinking, no.”

“But… where do you live?” he frowns. “Who takes care of you?”

“Self-sufficient, me,” Louis grins, straightening a little, but Harry’s still frowning. He’s heard about homeless people—even homeless kids—at school and on TV, but it’s always been an abstract concept clouded by images of Charles Dickens characters and sooty faces. Louis’ no shining pearl but even with his ruddy clothes, he looks so… ordinary. He doesn’t look like someone who should be homeless.

“Come on now, this isn’t a pity party,” Louis taps Harry’s bicep twice and starts them walking again. Harry doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t want to offend Louis, or let him read his shock as disgust. “I get by just fine, and lucky for you it means I know my way all around this town.”

 

***

 

Even though Louis is a few inches shorter, he _feels_ bigger, taking up space with his voice and the bounce in his step, and Harry watches the way people on the street seem to move for him. Harry is constantly dropping back behind Louis to let someone by, because two people side by side can take up a lot of the sidewalk on particularly narrow streets, but he always skips back into place at Louis’ side, whose step hasn’t changed at all.

Louis walks him around town, takes him down streets lined with restaurants and shops and little boutiques. Harry’s not that interested in their surroundings, though, it’s really only Louis that keeps him interested.

The moment he starts to think about the fact that he doesn’t know where he is, he starts to think about why he’s here, and he starts to feel a little hollow and panicked again.

It doesn’t happen until an hour or so later when the sky is changing shades, spilling lines of pink behind the building peaks, and then Harry remembers that night is coming and he’s not at home—that maybe he never should’ve left it in the first place.

“You okay, mate?”

Harry is dragging a few steps behind Louis, his feet slowing as his thoughts tick. The crowd on the sidewalk has thinned out now so no one forces Harry forward in their haste.

“I, uh…” He doesn’t know where he is or which way is home and he’s suddenly incredibly aware of just how little he’s seen of the world, to be thrown by a place so close to where he lives.

“Harry?”

Louis is in front of him again, frowning, and he reaches up to pull lightly on one of Harry’s curls. Harry’s eyes snap up to meet him and he gusts out a laugh, wrapping his arms around himself, trying not to think about the fact that his fingers are shaking.

“Yeah, I just—” He laughs again, in lieu of not knowing what to say.

“Maybe we should get you home,” Louis says, and Harry’s hand snaps up to grip his wrist. Louis gasps lightly, his eyebrows pinching more out of concern than pain.

“No! I mean—no, I don’t want to go home. Not now, not…”

_Ever?_

“Not yet.”

Louis is still looking at him like he’s not sure where his guardian’s got to, which is uncomfortable for a myriad of reasons, not least because he has to look slightly up to meet Harry’s eyes. He hasn’t pulled his arm from Harry’s grip, but he does eventually nod, slow and seemingly understanding.

“Okay.”

Harry releases his breath and drops his hand. Louis turns to start walking again, letting Harry follow.

They travel the rest of the street, walking on until the shops start to thin out and there are gaps between the buildings, and then eventually until there are no shops at all, just abandoned buildings with wire fencing. The sidewalk becomes rougher, a few more cracks creeping in where the grass has grown over the edge of the path.

The air is still but increasingly chilly as the sky above them starts to shift. There’s a golden hue creeping up from the horizon, and behind them the blue is starting to fade. Harry pulls his jacket from around his waist and slips it on, hiding his hands in the cuffs, but Louis doesn’t seem bothered in his simple tee.

Harry wants to ask where they’re going—wonders where Louis could be taking him, if he doesn’t have a home. He’s never been to this side of town before, only ever seen the sea of abandoned warehouse roofs from the second story Thai restaurant Anne and Robin had taken him to for his birthday last year.

The grass is starting to grow wilder, and eventually the path disappears altogether. There are no cars out here, so Louis steers them onto the road itself, and then they’re walking down asphalt side by side.

They don’t speak much, and Harry isn’t sure if it’s because of him or because of Louis. He isn’t even really sure what to say. He doesn’t want to offend Louis by commenting on just how dreary their surroundings are, and certainly doesn’t want to try and fake delight. He thinks Louis will see right through that in a second. He decides to just leave it up to Louis to say something next, since he’s in control of where they’re going.

The road gets rougher and Louis turns them off the main road and onto a gravel drive that stretches out ahead of them, seemingly endless. There are hardly any buildings out here, just more wire fencing around overgrown patches of grass, and Harry pulls his jacket tighter, not because he’s cold, but because it seems like the thing to do when you’re in a deserted part of town.

“It’s just this way,” Louis says suddenly, and Harry wants to ask what is this way, but he follows silently, agreeably, wondering whether this should all be warning Harry that Louis isn’t as trustworthy as he thought.

Louis takes them off the gravel road and walks towards a large, browning container that towers high above them both. There’s a large bull bar sticking out of one end, and Harry realises it isn’t a container at all but a train car, and under his feet are extremely rusted tracks hidden by the overgrown underbrush. His eyes follow the tracks. There’s another train car, and another — they’re all heavily rusted and bolted shut. On the other side of the cars is a small building of grey stone with a tin steeple roof and awning. Beside it is what appears to be a wooden shed attached to the side of the building, with one door ajar, and Louis seems to be making right for it.

As they get closer Harry can make out faded signs on the wall, almost completely sun-bleached, with hints of an old train schedule. There’s also a ticket machine whose slots have rusted over, and the fares have faded as well.

“Used to be an old industrial track, I think, but hasn’t been used since I got here,” Louis explains, walking towards the wooden shed and pushing the door open a little further. It gives a sinister creak, but opens just far enough that Harry can see how cramped it is inside. There are a few crates on the dusty floor, some sacks Harry can’t identify and what looks like a rickety table, but nothing else. There are slivers of light visible along the ground, under each wall, and along the cornice. Harry isn’t too keen to go inside, but Louis walks in like Harry would his own living room – like it’s home.

“Mi shed es su shed,” Louis beams, holding his arms out wide.

Harry tries to smile, tries not to show that he might be just as terrified of this as he was of Aunt Sophie, and steps in as a show of good faith. Louis pushes the door mostly shut until only a slip of light remains. The air in here feels just the same as outside.

“It’s not much, but it keeps the rain off, which is all you can ask for, sometimes.” Louis walks over to the sacks piled in the corner and opens the top one, pulling out what Harry first thinks is a blanket, and turns out to be a dusty coat. Louis settles himself on the ground and pats the space beside him.

Harry can see a few empty sacks lining the side of the shed Louis has made himself comfortable on, protecting him from the concrete floor. He settles down, a little hesitantly, and although the fabric is scratchy against his palm, it’s surprisingly soft as a base.

The light is starting to fade from the cracks in the shed. Harry knows it can’t be too late but his eyes are ready to close. He’s tired and worn out from the day and he hasn’t had any dinner, but he’s so exhausted it barely matters. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, listening to Louis talk on.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice is low and questioning like it hasn’t been before, and Harry shifts. He’s not sure if he does, but Louis’ been kind to him today and Harry thinks that maybe he owes him.

Also, he feels like maybe he should let some of it out, but there’s so much that he’s not really sure where to start.

“My parents died when I was ten.” Which is probably not the gentlest introduction to everything that’s going on.

He can see the lines of Louis’ body go rigid beside him, and one of his legs bends so he can pull it to his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean… it’s not—” He sighs. “It was a long time ago. I didn’t have any other family so I went into the foster system, but I was adopted a few weeks later. Anne and Robin, they—they met me and, I don’t know, they just… wanted me? It was...”

He smiles, remembering the way Anne had knelt beside his chair and said he was coming home with them. The way she’d brushed the hair off his face and asked if she could hug him, and he hadn’t really known what to do—was still mourning the loss of his own mother’s hugs. He’d nodded, and she’d embraced him like she was a mother of her own, and he’d thought he’d never feel that way again.

“It was great. Obviously it was weird at first, being in someone else’s home, but eventually it felt like my home too, you know?”

He could make out the fluffy edges of Louis’ hair from where he was lying against one of the sacks as a pillow. He nodded, to show he was listening, and didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know, I guess, like, I felt like I had a family again. I mean, I know—” He takes a breath, does _not_ want it to wobble. “I know they’re not my parents but they still felt…”

His breath shudders a little because he doesn’t have _that_ much control, and he sighs.

“Anyway, they had a baby a month ago.”

And at that, Louis makes a sound. It’s barely a hum, but it’s weighted, knowing, almost a little skeptical, and Harry looks at him again, but Louis is looking at the ceiling, the edges of his hair replaced by the line of his nose.

“James, they named him. And he’s nice—I mean, as far as babies go, you know? Babies are always pretty much the same, but they’re… sweet. And Anne and Robin, they didn’t stop paying attention to me or anything. Obviously they’re busy now, a new baby is a lot. And that’s fine—that’s—”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, and Harry didn’t even notice him sitting up. But he is, and he’s looking down at Harry, but Harry can’t make out his expression in the heightened dark of the shed. “You’re skipping around your words.”

Harry clenches his fist, knows exactly what he wants to say, but doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want the words to exist outside his head, because then they’re real. But Louis’s words hang over him and Harry has to give him something. It slips out before he can think of something else to say.

“They have a real child now.”

It’s silent. Harry’s heart is pounding and he’s breathing through his nose to keep it from growing ragged between his lips, and he’s still trying not to cry. Louis lets his hand rest on Harry’s arm, limp at first, but then he gives a little squeeze.

Louis lies back down, his hand still on Harry’s arm. Harry assumes he’s about to go to sleep, has heard all he needs to hear, but then without warning speaks up.

“I was almost adopted, you know.”

Harry’s eyes snap to Louis. “You were?”

“Mhm.”

“But—”

“More than once, technically.”

Harry’s brow knits and he feels a light tap against his ankle; he looks down to see Louis’ foot rocking from side to side. He leans his foot out a little so they press closer when Louis’ swings back.

“This couple, the Masons, said they wanted to take me home and make me part of their family. Brought me toys and everything, and told me they’d take me shopping for paint colours for me room.” His eyes crinkle a little, happily, just for a second. “It was just about done, when Mrs Mason found out she was pregnant, and that was that.”

Louis lies very still. His face smooth and passive but his grip on Harry’s arm is firm. Harry swallows. “They decided they didn’t want you?”

“Not with a baby of their very own on the way. Didn’t need an orphan anymore, did they?”

“But they said—”

Louis swings away from Harry until he’s flat on his back. When he speaks, his voice is unnaturally light.

“Then after a couple of years in a foster home came the Kwons. They already had a daughter but they wanted another child, so they thought they’d be charitable, you know? Came knocking around the foster homes, looking for someone they liked best. And they talked to all of us—talked to some of us more than the others—built up our hopes every time they smiled.”

There’s a bitter tang to his words.

“They talked to me a lot, Mr Kwon especially, and I thought maybe…” Louis’ jaw tightens. “I thought after two years I might have finally found my way out of that place.”

Harry feels like he knows the end of this story, and he’s not sure he wants to hear it.

“Then one day they brought their daughter around to meet us. They wanted to see who she liked, ‘cause God forbid they adopted a child their daughter didn’t approve of. One look at me and I was out of the running.”

Harry almost reaches out to mirror the comforting hand Louis had offered earlier, but there’s something cold in Louis’ tone that makes him keep his hands to himself.

“That was it for me. No one wants to adopt a teenager and any other couples that came to our house were only there for the little ones.”

There’s a clear question on Harry’s tongue, and he wants to ask, but doesn’t know if he should—isn’t sure if Louis would be offended. When Louis doesn’t say anything else, Harry decides to take the plunge.

“How did you—I mean, why are you... why aren’t you still in a foster home?”

Louis tips his head to look at Harry. “You’ve no idea what foster homes are like, do you? With upwards of four kids at any one time, kids moving in and out based on their behaviour or desirability?” His face darkens, mouth twisting. “Those people don’t care about you—they can’t. You’re not theirs, and the second they have kids of their own, you’re out.”

“I’m sure not all foster h—”

“I moved between five foster families over nine years, and was almost adopted twice,” Louis says. “They’re all the same. You’re a placeholder for them, until they have a family of their own—a real one. The second they have their own baby, you don’t matter to them anymore.”

Harry stays quiet this time. He’s not sure he could make a sound even if he did open his mouth. There’s a pit in his stomach making his feel sick and he thinks about Anne and Robin—and James. He thinks about everything Val said, and the way Aunt Sophie never treated him like he was family. And he wonders if Aunt Sophie is all he’ll get from the people he loves from now on.

He can’t help the sniffle, and he hears Louis look over even as he’s squeezing his eyes shut.

He doesn’t want Louis to be the next one to speak, so he says, “I don’t believe that,” even though he’s worried he does.

“Don’t believe what?” Louis asks.

“That they don’t care about me anymore.” He opens his eyes and sees Louis leaning on his elbow in his peripheral vision. He says what he wants to hear. “I don’t believe that they… don’t love me.”

He knows they _did_. He knows they made room in their home and hearts for him, he just doesn’t know if it’s still there.

“I didn’t say they wouldn’t love you anymore, Harry.” Louis is speaking quietly again, like he’s trying to soften a blow. Harry hates it. “All I’m saying is that once a couple has a child of their own… You can’t really measure up, you know? I mean, what chance do you have?”

“You don’t know them,” Harry snaps, and for the first time since meeting Louis, Harry almost wishes he hadn’t. Louis is no longer tapping his foot against Harry’s ankle.

“No, I don’t, but you’ve been thinking this all along.”

He’s looking right at Harry, who refuses to meet his eye.

“You said it yourself, they have a _real_ child. They adopted you because they didn’t have one before but now… I mean, why are you even here, Harry? Why aren’t you at home right now?”

“It wasn’t because of them.” He can’t help that every word he says is in defense of Anne and Robin. They might not be in his DNA, but the urge to defend them from anyone’s bad words definitely is.

“Then why?”

“They’re… they went on holiday. My aunt is looking after me this week. But she hates me—she’s always hated me and she loves James, and even her daughters said I wasn’t really part of their family, and the only thing keeping me… The only reason I wasn’t so afraid before was because Anne and Robin were there.”

“So you ran away from your aunt?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t want to go back?”

Harry presses his palms into his eyes, rubbing until it’s like they’re outside and the stars are twinkling above. Acceptance settles in his chest.

“I know that I have to go back. I can’t… I can’t leave Anne and Robin.” Reluctantly, he adds, “And James.”

“James?”

“The baby.”

“I know. But why can’t you leave him?”

He looks at Louis, and even in the dark he can tell Louis is looking at him too. “Well, because I can’t?”

“But he’s the problem, isn’t he?”

“He’s not a problem, Louis, he’s a baby.”

It’s like with Louis there, Harry’s suddenly able to become his own voice of reason. The problem is that Louis’ voice is a part of him too, and it’s strong.

“Yeah,” Louis shifts, adjusting his arm. “And if he wasn’t there then you’d still be Anne and Robin’s only child, and none of this would matter.”

“So what, you think I should get rid of James?” Harry draws himself up onto his elbows.

“Obviously not,” Louis grunts, slumping back. “I’m just saying, you’re showing loyalty to a baby you’re not even related to.”

“I’m not related to Anne and Robin either, but they’re my family.”

It’s in that moment that through all the fear and the panic, he knows he can’t be the one to leave them. Even if they don’t want him anymore, even if they can’t handle him now that they have a baby of their own, Harry can’t be the one to break them apart. They may be the root of his anxiety, but they’re also the only ones that make him feel loved. He just doesn’t want to stop being loved.

Louis doesn’t really answer, just gives a non-committal hum like he doesn’t entirely agree but wants to pitch in his five cents anyway.

“I know you don’t think they’re my family, Louis, but they _are_ ,” Harry says, marginally more sure of himself. “I—I know they love me, and I love them too.”

“It’s fine, Harry. I’m not trying to—” Louis huffs. He sits upright and turns to look at Harry head on. “All I’m saying is I’ve been where you are, and I know what it’s like to be replaced.”

Harry’s heart starts pounding because that’s it—that’s the word he’s been trying to avoid, and there it is right in front of him, filling this small space he’s sharing with Louis.

“And I guess,” Louis continues, “I just want to say I’m sorry. It’s… horrible, and you deserve to be part of someone’s family. You’re lucky you had it for a while.”

Louis’ speaking like Harry’s life has irrevocably changed and it opens that pool of despair he’s been swallowing down through this entire conversation. Harry’s not sure he’ll be able to keep a tight lid on it; he rolls over so his back is to Louis and rests his cheek against his palm.

“I’m going to sleep.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, but there’s a small patch of warmth against Harry’s shoulder, five light points of pressure where his fingertips press in. Harry pulls his shoulder away and hears Louis sigh, before he’s adjusting the coat over both their legs and lying back against the sacks.

“I’ll take you home tomorrow,” Louis says, and Harry isn’t sure whether he wants him to or not.

 

***

 

Harry’s legs are freezing. The moment he’s conscious and aware, he curls himself into a tight ball, burrowing his head into the blanket pulled up to his neck. He can still feel air on his legs and suddenly realises he’s not covered by a blanket at all, but a coat that reaches halfway down his thigh. Stretching, his toes brush the opposite wall.

He rolls over to see a figure behind him, facing the other way, curled up tight. Harry scrubs at his face, sitting up. Young daylight peaks in between the wood paneled walls.

Louis is hunched forward, armed tucked into his chest. His fringe is fanned across his face, his lips lax and slightly puckered as he takes slow, even breaths. Harry notices a light tremor run through his body and sees that the hem of his shirt has pulled up his back, leaving a strip of skin exposed. It’s a part of Louis he didn’t see yesterday, unweathered and smooth. A few knobs of his spine are visible and Harry wants to play connect the dots with his fingers, follow them up and see where they lead.

He’s almost tempted, but Louis shivers again and Harry reaches over, pulling his shirt down and tucking the coat in so he’s covered.

The shift is just disruptive enough to wake him; Louis stretches, rolling onto his back and looking up at Harry through slits.

“Sorry.” Harry gestures towards the coat. “You looked cold.”

“Used to it though, aren’t I,” Louis answers, one corner of his mouth ticking up. “You looked like you needed it more.”

Harry can remember how he’d felt last night—how upsetting Louis’ words had been; the way he’d said everything Harry hadn’t wanted to hear. But it seems to have melted away in his sleep, because instead he feels warmth in his chest, and gratitude.

“You sleep alright? I know it’s no bed of feathers but—”

“No—it was… I mean, yeah, it was fine. It was good, thank you.” Harry can feel a stiffness in his neck that wasn’t there yesterday, but he also has a roof over his head, which is more than he could’ve done himself.

He thinks back to his bed, his room, and he thinks about the fact that it was empty last night. He wonders if Aunt Sophie went looking for him after he took off yesterday—if she even cared to look. He wonders if Anne and Robin know he didn’t sleep at home last night.

Had Aunt Sophie called them to let them know he’d run away? Had they worried? Had it been enough to disrupt their vacation? Harry knows it’s stupid to doubt that they’d worry— _feels_ stupid thinking about Anne and Robin hearing that he left and going back to their sunny beachside getaway with nothing more than a shrug. It doesn’t mean he isn’t scared that it’s true.

They still have their real baby waiting for them, after all.

“So, I’ll need to know where you live if I’m to escort you home safe and sound,” Louis says, rubbing at his eyes.

“I live on Victoria Road.”

Louis squints at him. At first Harry thinks it’s because he’s still tired, but there’s a glimmer of attitude there.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Just didn’t realise you were from the fancy part of town, is all.”

“I’m not,” Harry laughs as Louis sits up.

“There’re more trees on that street than in all the national parks combined.”

Harry scoffs. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Don’t tell me, you’ve got a picket fence as well.” He laughs at Harry’s silence, which earns an eye roll. “High end!”

“For your information, it’s the only picket fence on the street. Robin built it himself so I’d recognise the yard when walking home from school.”

“Alright, Fancy Pants, nothing wrong with an upmarket fence.”

Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s side, interrupting his second eye roll as he squirms away.

“I’m starving,” Louis says mid-way through a yawn, and Harry’s brought back to the present, to the little shed and Louis scratching absently at his stomach. “You up for some breakfast?”

“Are we going to dine and dash for that too?” Harry asks, still a little guilty over yesterday.

Louis grins. “Not exactly.”

After tidying up the cloth sacks they’d slept on and stepping out into a blissfully warm morning, Harry lets Louis lead them back away from the railways and onto the road they’d stepped off the evening before.

“Probably can’t go back there for a couple of months,” Louis says as they pass the Mexican restaurant they dined at yesterday.

“So where are we going then?”

“Faith, young Harry,” Louis chides, patting at his shoulder. His movements are a little slow, almost gracefully sleepy, as he tips up his face to smile at the sun with his eyes closed.

Harry isn’t sure if Louis’ leading them down the same streets they walked yesterday, or if these ones are new. Between the fear of being lost and mugged, and Louis’ everything, Harry hadn’t noticed much about the places they’d passed. He does pay more attention now, though, and while the buildings here aren’t as new or as pristine as the ones nearer his home, they have a lot of character. There’s artistic graffiti on the shutter doors over storefronts that haven’t opened yet; the ground is littered with leaves from the trees shading the sidewalks, but it adds colour and texture to the streetscape.

There are more cars than there are pedestrians, so Harry and Louis mostly have the sidewalk to themselves. Louis walks in a wavering line, veering nearer to Harry and then away, as if travelling straight is too mediocre. A couple of times Harry thinks they’re about to make a turn and follows Louis’ steady arc, only to bump into him when he hovers closer. Louis starts to deliberately knock into Harry whenever he curves back, walking in an even wavier line to exaggerate the pulsing distance between them. Harry bites his lip to keep his smile from spreading into too embarrassing a grin, but he does feel a light flutter in his chest every time Louis’ hand brushes over his when they collide.

After walking who knows how many blocks, Louis takes hold of Harry’s arm to signal that he’s not just meandering, but is actually turning the next corner, and Harry follows obediently.

There’s more activity on this road, and Harry sees Louis making for the crossing so he presses the lights, but Louis just takes off at a moderate gap in traffic. Harry takes too long to decide whether to follow, and then just ends up waiting until the crossing goes green. He scurries across so Louis doesn’t have to wait any longer than he already has, muttering a quick “sorry,” to which Louis just nudges him again, and Harry figures that means it’s okay.

“Not sure what Zayn’ll have for us today,” Louis says suddenly.

“Zayn?”

“Yep, Zayn.”

Louis turns off the sidewalk as they’re passing a wide window-fronted store with the word ‘deli’ in cursive writing above the awning. Harry can see endless cases inside, fridges full of drinks and cold foods, tables and chairs spread moderately in front of the windows. Half the seats are taken and there are just as many people milling about inside, eyeing the menu.

Louis appears to head for the door, but sidesteps it at the last minute.

“Um, where—” Harry starts.

“Shh, keep up.”

Louis ushers him with a wildly flapping hand, not looking back, and Harry scurries after him. They head down a narrow alley barely wide enough for two people side by side. Harry squeezes past a couple of bins and a few stacked crates, before stepping out into a small parking lot. There’s only three spaces, and the asphalt is terribly uneven. It looks like this space is reserved for employees.

“Lou—?”

“Shh, here!” Louis is pressed up against the back wall of the building, and Harry presses against the bricks as well. His arm brushes Louis’ lightly and Harry shivers, goes to create a gap between them, but Louis doesn’t seem to react at all. Experimentally, Harry leaves them pressed together.

The back door is open, and sounds are flowing out through the screen door. There’s quite a lot of noise going on inside—a combination of voices and what sounds like pots and pans.

Louis keeps peeking in through the screen and then ducking back out of sight. Harry wants to ask what he’s doing but keeps quiet like he was told.

Louis does this another three times, sometimes whipping back quickly, and other times craning to try and see as much as he can. On the fourth go he hisses, “Zayn,” scratching a fingernail at the screen door.

Harry’s heart is beating fast, which seems a little melodramatic even in Harry’s opinion, but it doubles down when Louis presses back against the wall and Harry can hear steps approaching the door.

The handle of the door squeaks and a boy around Louis’ height steps out of the deli; he has warm skin and dark, gravity-defying hair, and there’s a grimy apron wrapped around his waist.

“Haven’t seen you in a few days,” the boy says. He’s looking at Louis the way Harry suspects he does too.

“Gotta spread the love, don’t I?” Louis answers, chest puffed out, and the boy pulls him in for a brief one-armed hug. Only with his chin tucked over Louis’ shoulder does the boy finally notice Harry with his arms wrapped around his middle, unsure of what to do as a clear outsider.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Zayn, Harry—Harry, Zayn.” Louis flaps his hand between the two of them, stepping aside so they can be properly acquainted.

Harry gives half a wave and Zayn nods his head, one hand still grasping at his apron. For the first time Harry realises that the pocket is bulging.

“He with you now?” Zayn asks, and Harry’s a little relieved this question isn’t directed at him because honestly, he’s not sure what to say.

“Kinda,” Louis relents. “Showing him the best haunts in town.”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says. “You don’t have to sing for your supper here.”

Louis laughs and then Zayn steps forward, reaching into his apron.

“We were a little thin yesterday, but I got what I could. Few sandwiches at least, but none of the jam donuts you like. Only a custard one.”

“You know I’m not picky, Zayn,” Louis says, accepting the three packaged sandwiches and brown paper bag.

“You know I know you are,” Zayn counters, but Louis just shrugs a shoulder like it’s out of his hands. Zayn’s eyes flicker to Harry before he adds, “This gonna be enough?”

Louis looks back at him then too, and Harry sees a flicker of something he’s surprised he hasn’t seen on Louis’ face before. Something small, something deprived.

“Yeah, we’ll be good. Thanks a lot, Zayn.”

They’ve been joking and light so far, but this last sentiment is soft and genuine on Louis’ lips, and Zayn clasps his shoulder in return.

“I gotta get back but take care, yeah? Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“You too,” Harry answers, and then Zayn lets himself back into the deli.

They retreat back around the side of the building. It’s tight, but Louis just sits himself down on the ground and drops the food in the diamond between his legs. Harry drops with his back against the wall, perpendicular to Louis.

As Louis lines up the sandwiches, Harry’s mind flashes back to yesterday, to shared nachos and Louis rushing him around the corner. He opens his mouth but Louis gets there first.

“Zayn sometimes saves a couple of the sandwiches from the day before. They can’t sell them anymore so they’re no good to his family. They can’t make any money off them. They’re practically garbage.”

There’s something almost defensive in his tone and Harry’s insides shrink a little in shame. He doesn’t want Louis to feel judged.

“That’s nice of him,” he says with a smile, hoping to coax one onto Louis’ face too. It works.

“Alright, we’ve got one tuna, one ham and tomato – nice! – and one egg salad,” Louis reads from the labels. “And of course, a one-day-old custard donut. What’ll it be, good Sir?”

“The, uh, tuna please, thank you.” In all honesty, he would’ve probably preferred the ham and tomato, but he’d seen the light flicker in Louis’ eyes when he’d seen it, and there’s no way Harry is going to take it from him.

He accepts his chosen sandwich with thanks and peels the plastic seal off, opening the package. The smell of tuna is pungent, but the second he gets a whiff his stomach grumbles eagerly. He can taste that the bread is heading towards stale, but he’s so hungry he couldn’t care less, and he looks up to see Louis’ cheeks are already packed, chewing through a wide grin. Harry can’t help the little giggle that escapes, and they sit in the damp of the alley, eating their way through Zayn’s generous hand out.

Harry lets Louis eat the third sandwich, but Louis insists they split the donut, so in ten minutes they’ve got custard all over their fingers and smiles on their faces.

Dusting the crumbs from their fronts, they emerge from the alley and rejoin the broken crowd populating the sidewalk. Harry throws one more cursory glance towards the deli and spots Zayn behind the counter.

“He’s a good mate,” Louis says, following Harry’s eyes. With a few more steps, Zayn is out of sight and Harry sets his eyes ahead once more.

“Where’d you meet him?” Harry asks, and instantly wonders if he shouldn’t have. Louis’ backstory isn’t something he wants to ask after—not after last night, when Louis already gave so much.

He doesn’t seem to mind, however, and gives even more. “Used to come to this deli with my last foster parents. Only a few times, mind, but it was one of the few places they took us. After I left I didn’t have much on me, and what I did have didn’t last long. I came here a couple of times, but then I used to just hang around outside, I guess. No point going in with no cash, you know?”

Harry ducks back behind Louis to avoid oncoming pedestrian traffic, quickly jumping back at his side so he doesn’t miss a word.

“Zayn came out one time and I guess he could kinda tell I wanted something, what with my longing gazes through the window,” Louis chuckles, trying to make a joke of something Harry just finds sad. “Offered me half a sandwich, said he wasn’t hungry enough to finish it. Sort of became a thing, and now I’m the resident leftover disposal unit—well, _secret_ resident leftover disposal unit.”

Harry nods, chances a quick glance at Louis and sees his eyes are set low. But the moment he notices Harry looking at him his shoulders roll back and a wide grin split his lips before he taps his knuckles lightly against Harry’s hand.

“Come on then, Fancy Pants, best be getting you home!”

Harry screws up his nose, earning a cackle from Louis.

Harry’s eyes rove the streets as Louis begins to lead the way, and although he’s suspicious they walked this way just yesterday, nothing looks familiar. Harry isn’t sure if he’d been too on edge or too enamoured with Louis to notice everything around them.

The streets are filling up, though, getting busier as the day comes to life, and while the shops lining the streets are quaint, the sidewalks are almost to the point of over-crowding. Harry had apologised the first few times his shoulder had nudged Louis’, but now he’s glad for it. Without it, he fears he’d get lost in the crowd.

“Oh, and _that’s_ where I got the highest score in Space Invaders!” Louis crows, pointing at a green and white diner across the road. “I go in and check every week or so—still undefeated.”

He continues pointing things out to Harry as they go, eyes alight with the experiences he’s so eager to share, and Harry follows the trace of his finger through the air just as eagerly, soaking in Louis’ life. Yesterday, he’d pitied Louis; he’d thought there was probably nothing worse than being homeless. He’d wondered how Louis could even muster a smile, let alone inspire one in Harry, but after last night, and after their morning so far, Harry’s starting to think that Louis actually has it pretty good.

Not that Harry wants to give up the roof he knows is waiting to sit back over his head, but the more Louis shares about his life, the more he laughs and mimes adventures and pulls laughter from Harry’s lips, the less Harry thinks that his own life is the one to be envied.

At some point during all this tale telling, Louis’ hand ends up wrapped around Harry’s arm while his other is sweeping out in front of them as he describes the sheer size of the circus tent that had rolled through town a few weeks ago.

“It must’ve fit _thousands_ in there. I don’t know, I did try to sneak in but,” he shrugs, like it hadn’t been his first experience getting caught. “But I did walk around back to the circle of trailers and saw the lion pen where the animals stayed between shows. A little cruel, I suppose, but I wasn’t gonna miss a chance to see my very own lion! You ever been to a circus?”

Harry shakes his head. He loves animals and all, but a circus was never the type of environment he wished to subject himself to in order to see them.

“Probably a good thing, too,” Louis muses, brow dipped in some forced mimicry of wisdom. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to see a lion as well.”

“What—”

“Ta-da!”

Louis stops, and due to the hand still wrapped around Harry’s arm, so does he. He realises that at some point they’d moved beyond the busy streets and are now standing on a quieter, leafier one. Their entire side of the street has no buildings at all, just one very tall stone wall blocking their view of whatever is on the other side. A few metres ahead is a man in a bright red uniform handing small slips of paper to a young woman and an even younger girl; above them Harry reads “CITY ZOO” in bold, black lettering.

“You want to go to the zoo?” he asks Louis, whose teeth glint as he nods. “But we’re supposed to be taking me home.”

“Home isn’t going anywhere, Fancy Pants.”

And Aunt Sophie is still waiting there, dampening Harry’s sense of urgency. “But we don’t have any money.”

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Louis chides, stepping behind Harry and placing his hands on his shoulders. “Have I taught you nothing? Money is merely a formality.”

If Louis has taught Harry anything, it’s to release some of the tension that the suggestion of unpaid services used to give him. Twenty-four hours ago he would’ve turned on his heel, faced Louis head on, and given him a well-earned lecture about the error of his impending ways. Now, though, with no money and a small handful of unpaid experiences in his own pocket, he isn’t feeling that same anxious beat in his heart.

He takes a step forward but Louis’ fingers tighten on his shoulders, keeping him in place. “Oh no, no front door for us. We’ll take the back entrance.”

He steers Harry away from the front gate and leads him all the way to the top of the street. They take a right, still following the large stone wall that remains ever to their right. The road is relatively empty and they don’t speak, just follow the imposing, sandy enclosure for a few minutes. Harry has no idea how big this zoo is. Are they going to walk the entire circumference of this wall?

“Louis—” he starts, but is swiftly cut off by Louis’ pioneering hand.

“Not long now, young Harry, don’t worry.”

“Okay, but—”

“I’ll get you back home safe and sound. It’s just a little side adventure, nothing to worry about.” He flashes a smile. “Just a good story for you to tell one day.”

Harry smiles a little and thinks that his time with Louis has been nothing but good stories.

Eventually they reach a Y junction, moving up a much more narrow road where the wall starts to dip in height. It becomes less imposing with every step, and he doesn’t realise where they are until he walks into a spectacularly offensive odour. Wrinkling his nose, Harry’s eyes drop back to eye level and he sees a line of bins stretch out ahead, blocking an iron gate much longer than the one at the front entrance.

They stop right beside the first bin—well, Louis does. Harry keeps going a few more feet from the odourous source in the name of self-preservation.

Louis doesn’t appear to be bothered by the smell, or at least not surprised by it.

“Great, coast is clear. Okay, how are you with knee-ups?”

“Um, knee-ups?”

“Yeah, you know.” He squats slightly and links his hands, forming a cradle. “For a boost?”

“Oh.” He looks between Louis and the top of the bin. “But shouldn’t I boost you? I’m a bit taller.”

Louis looks absolutely affronted. “Excuse me, novices before seasoned offenders, thank you very much.”

He nods towards Harry and readies himself. Harry wants to push it, but doesn’t, simply rests one foot in the cradle of Louis’ hands and gets a good grip on the corner of the bin. It’s greasy, and he wants to run for the nearest sink and lather up for days, but he just tightens his fingers, pushes against Louis’ and hoists himself up so he’s lying flat with his legs dangling off the side. He tries not to think about what’s just happened to the front of his shirt and swivels around until his legs are safe and he can kneel.

“Great! Now me!”

Louis’ bouncing with energy on the ground as he grips the bin with one hand and holds up the other for Harry to take. In an act that defies any basic level of physics Harry has so far gained, Louis leans one foot against the smooth side of the bin and, with Harry holding tight to his free hand, kicks off the ground and up to Harry’s side with a loud clang.

Harry looks around, ready to be caught from the noise pollution alone, but Louis just dusts off his hands and knees, standing up on the bin and walking towards the iron gate. There’s a respectable gap but Louis easily steps so his foot is balancing on the bar running across the top of the gate and jumps the fence, landing with a light thud on the other side.

“Come on, Fancy Pants, we haven’t got all day!”

Harry is well-aware of that, and he further sullies his clothes by wiping his hands before following in Louis’ footsteps and hoisting himself over the gate so they’re both crouched on the other side.

“Like a professional, you are,” Louis commends, dusting off Harry’s shoulders and beckoning him to follow.

They’re at the rear of a large driveway with hulking sheds on either side. There are a few trucks, a few stacks of containers, and the air smells like manure. Not altogether pleasant but strangely refreshing after climbing atop garbage.

Louis takes off at a confident pace, and Harry darts after him, keeping to his shadow and feeling far too exposed in the open space. There’s no one around, only the distant sounds of life audible, but it’s his first time trespassing and he’s got a healthy sense of fear.

“Do you know your way around?” he asks Louis, who flashes him a grin.

“Not the first time I’ve taken a tour of the zoo without a pass, don’t worry.”

The sheds are all numbered, counting down from twelve as they pass, and when they eventually reach number one Louis leads them around the side and through an unlocked gate. The moment they circle around the tin building it’s like noise explodes into the air. It’s suddenly so loud, Harry can’t believe he couldn’t hear all this sooner.

There are people everywhere, walking in all directions in groups of twos and threes and more, families and younger couples and a few errant children who are soon to be missed, Harry is sure. There are food stalls set up in a semi-circle, and Louis seems to have led them out behind a small sugar cane juice stand.

Harry can hear the animals, too, and it sends a little thrill through him. He hasn’t been to the zoo in far too long.

“Ready for a little adventure?” Louis whispers, before taking his hand and leading him out.

No one seems to notice the two boys emerging from a staff-only area with all the hustle and bustle moving in every direction, and Louis moves with enough poise to look like he belongs wherever he is, anyway.

“Any particular animal you’d like to see first?” Louis asks over his shoulder, and Harry’s eyes jump up from their joined hands. He tries not to squeeze too hard and give away the fact that he’s midway through a cardiovascular event.

“Um, anything is fine. I love all animals,” he concedes, his eyes catching a large cartoon map up ahead. The trails are all bright orange, twining through illustrated jungles and savannahs and ice caps. There’s a conspicuous drawing of a hamburger just above a big red dot that reads “You Are Here.”

Harry slows down to try and gain some direction from the map but Louis just pulls him along with assurances that he’s the only guide Harry will need.

The paths are crowded and Louis maintains his hold on Harry’s hand. It’s a warm day, with the sun high and bright up above and endless bodies on every side, but Harry feels like most of the heat he’s feeling originates in his left hand. He’s holding the sun in his palm but he keeps his hand clasped tight around Louis’, determined not to lose him.

“Here, here!” Louis ushers, pulling him over and up onto a bench so they can see above a line of people around the edges of an enclosure. Harry sees that the ground inside the fence is sunken, giving a good view of a wide grassy knoll that, at first glance, appears empty.

Harry’s eyes scan the pen for whatever is drawing those sounds of awe, but it isn’t until Louis leans in and points to the strip of shade up the back that Harry spots a large, hulking mass of dark fur. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then he recognises the gorilla reclining in the shade, languidly feeding itself with one hand.

Once Harry sees it, he starts to spot the others. They’re scattered all around, some in the shade and some in the sun—even a couple in the low-hanging branches.

“I love chimps,” Louis grins.

“To be honest, they freak me out a little bit,” Harry says, and Louis releases a monosyllabic laugh at his wary tone. “They’re just a bit too close to human, you know? Can’t be trusted.”

“I dunno, mate,” Louis shakes his head as one of the gorillas does a forward roll across the grass. “I think you’ve seen one too many sci-fi flicks.”

“Come back in thirty years when we’ve been experimenting on them and tell me my concerns were wrong,” Harry warns with a shake of his head. Louis just laughs again and jumps down from the bench, pulling Harry with him.

They run every trail of the zoo, Harry is sure of it, and although his hand starts to sweat after a little while, Louis keeps a steadfast grip, only interrupted by excited pointing. Harry mentally ticks off the park sections in his head—Africa, with its large-eared elephants that have Louis pulling out his own ears to try and get their attention; the aviary, which is so loud already, even before Louis starts squawking back (Harry throws a few in too for good measure, although he’s laughing so hard its difficult); the serpentaria, where one of the rangers offers to drape a snake over Harry’s shoulders and he all but grabs Louis’ hand and bolts; the penguin habitat, where Harry is certain he waves at a penguin just right so that it waves back (“I _swear_ , Louis,” he implores, and Louis grins and pats his hair); and Australia, with animals so bizarre looking that neither of them know what to say at all.

But it’s the Asian habitat that wins out as Harry’s favourite. Its little-eared elephants and red pandas are cute, but Harry’s always wanted to see a tiger up close and personal, and now here he is, standing with a few centimetres of perspex glass between him and the biggest cat of the jungle.

It’s pacing slowly, back and forth across a leafy enclosure, and Harry can’t take his eyes off it. It’s got to reach halfway up his torso at least, and he watches the way its powerful shoulders shift with every step.

There are a few kids standing right up against the glass, two little girls and a boy, and one of them stretches out her hand and rests it flat on the clear surface. The tiger’s eyes dilate, drawn to her palm, but i the girl doesn’t flinch. Harry wants to stretch out his hand, too, but he’s afraid it’ll work; as much as he’s in awe, he’s happy to keep his distance.

Louis is pacing a little himself, almost mirroring the tiger but with much less fervour.  When Harry turns and smiles at him he stops, smiles back, and steps closer.

“Enjoying the view?” He taps two fingers on the glass and Harry’s heart blooms in brief panic, but the tiger doesn’t react.

Harry nods. While he eyes to great beast stalking its enclosure, he feels Louis’ fingers slide down his palm until they interlock with his own. Harry grips back.

Harry isn’t sure how long they’ve been here, but it does feel like the day has moved on once they step back out into the sun. It’s still busy, so their hands remain linked, and Harry throws cursory glances towards the enclosures he’s already seen throughout the day. While he’s admiring a snow globe with a majestic polar bear in the gift shop, Louis swipes them two chocolate bars and he munches on one gratefully when Louis leads him on.

It’s not until he’s scrunching up the empty wrapper that Harry realises Louis is leading them toward the front gate. He looks at Louis in question.

“No danger in leaving through the front door once you’re already inside.”

Harry can’t help feeling a little tense and his palm slides against Louis’ as they approach the iron gates. The guard just gives them a nod, which Louis returns, and then they’re back on the sidewalk and heading up the street without fuss.

“How was that for an adventure, Fancy Pants?” Louis grins, and his hand finally slides out of Harry’s.

He mourns the contact but pastes on a smile. “So much fun.”

“Good!” There’s a bounce in Louis’ step that Harry can’t help but take pride in. It stays as they head off up the street.

With the zoo behind them, Harry knows they’re back on track to getting him home. They’re not quite in familiar territory yet, but he can tell they’ve left the city centre and are crossing the stretch to the next populated neighborhood. One step closer to home.

Truth be told, Harry isn’t sure how he feels about it.

The greatest distance Harry has ever walked had been the mile-long walkathon his school enforced a couple of years ago. Harry can hold his own, but he’s no athlete, and he doesn’t have a watch but he’s sure he’s already been walking for longer than he had that day. He’s fond of a kickabout or a game with Niall and Liam, but he’s never been a willing participant in walking extensive distances for the sake of fitness or leisure. His feet are a little sore, his shoulders slightly tight from what Anne always chastises as his “poor posture,” yet it’s almost easy to forget all of that with Louis at his side.

There’s not a moment that goes by that they aren’t talking, and it’s strange, because Louis doesn’t know any of the video games that Harry loves, and Harry doesn’t know any of the places Louis frequents, and none of it matters. They’ve been walking so long the sun has moved and the only time they paused was for Louis to recover from Harry recounting his last school picture day.

“It’s still in a frame on the mantle, scaring everyone that walks into the living room. It was weeks before I let her wash my uniform again.”

“I’m sure you gave off a lovely aroma,” Louis laughs.

“Better B.O. than another bleached shirt on picture day.”

“You must’ve looked like an apparition, your head floating between a white shirt and white background.” Louis swipes a finger under his damp eyes.

“It’s horrible. But Anne likes it, so…” He shrugs, like that’s justification enough. His smile drops off a little, and Louis notices.

The space between them disappears as his arm brushes Harry’s. “You know—” But Harry knows what’s coming.

“Don’t. They’re still my family.” _For now_ , he doesn’t say. “I… they chose me, and I’d choose them. It’s my home.”

Louis expels a quick breath through his nose, and a sliver of space reappears between their arms. Harry doesn’t like the way his stomach feels that little bit heavier for it.

The long stretch of bushy highway eventually turns into another populated street. People walk around and between them, filling the sidewalk. Harry doesn’t want to be separated from Louis and bumps into him with a little too much zeal as he dodges an oncoming woman with a billowing skirt, all in the effort of preventing her stepping between them.

He mumbles an apology and moves to step away again but Louis’ hand is tight on his arm, keeping him pressed into Louis’ space. Harry looks up to see him eyeing something down the road, mind clearly turning.

“What do you say to one more adventure before you go home, Fancy Pants?”

There’s a glint in his eyes, evidence that there’s already a plan behind his words, and Harry can only think about the fact that he wants to be home more than anything but home isn’t the comfort that it once was. It’s still just Aunt Sophie and the girls and little James who all make him seem like he shouldn’t call it home at all.

Maybe Harry wouldn’t mind delaying the knot that’s starting to form in his stomach a little while longer.

Louis can see the yes in Harry’s eyes and takes his hand before it’s spoken. He pulls him off the sidewalk, throws a cursory glance up and down the street, and then they dash across, Louis one step ahead and pulling him towards the opening of a large shopping mall with an inviting, arched entrance.

For the first time since meeting Louis, Harry feels like he’s suddenly in a familiar environment. From a strange town to restaurants he’s never visited, this is the first time Harry has stepped foot inside a place where he didn’t have to watch Louis’ every step for indication of what he should do. The cavernous hum of activity envelops them as they step inside.

Harry dances his fingers along the railing as he spots a food court up ahead, a semi-circle of fluorescent food chains advertising grease and salt in a variety of appealing ways. Harry’s stomach growls, but he doesn’t really want to steal another meal. He’s not desperate, he can wait until he’s home.

It’ll gives him something to look forward to.

Louis’ still eyeing the menu boards like he’s trying to find a way so Harry takes _his_ hand for the first time, subtly tugging him toward a different area. Louis’ head snaps toward Harry, and there’s a pink tinge to Louis’ cheeks as they keep walking.

Harry wonders how much time Louis spends here, given that he doesn’t really have money to spend. He wonders what Louis’ favourite shops would be, what he _would_ spend money on if he could. He wonders how much time Louis gets for fun.

He feels a pull on his hand and it’s no longer him leading Louis, but the other way around. Louis seems to have found something he wants.

The storefront they enter is so wide Harry can’t even spot the name. His heart jumps when he spots a man hovering off to the side, possibly a security guard, but a longer look reveals it’s just a customer perusing the sales rack in a non-committal manner. Louis gives him a two-finger salute and he seems amused if nothing else. 

It’s a department store. Signage hangs from the ceiling to direct them to the various sections.

“What do you reckon? A bounce on some of the beds, make sure they’re up to scratch?” Louis asks, hand on his hip as his eyes scan the signs. “Or maybe we could get you a nice makeover. Turn you into a new man.”

“No, thank you,” Harry scrunches up his nose when Louis taps it, laughing.

“Oh, I know!” Louis takes a left, leading them through menswear with determination. He veers them off the path and Harry blindly follows, unsure of where they’re going.

It quickly becomes clear that Louis is taking the scenic route, winding them back and forth between racks of well-pressed pants and widely-shouldered jackets. He flashes a mischievous smile over his shoulder. Harry smiles back, picking up his pace and darting in after Louis, trying to keep up as he sets a nonsensical path between the clothes.

He can hear Louis cackling every time he makes a particularly sharp turn and Harry skids lightly across the carpet to keep up. When Louis ducks around a rack of polo shirts Harry dives through it instead of around it, crashing into Louis’ side and sending them toppling over.

Louis barks out a laugh, almost landing on his side, and when he quiets down Harry can see he’s puffing just a bit.

“Cheater,” Louis breathes.

“Clever,” Harry counters, and Louis just nods, cheeks bunched up pleasantly.

When they’re back on their feet and walking more sensibly, they reach the end of menswear to find what can only be the toy department. It’s brightly coloured and crammed with all sorts of toys he would’ve loved a few years ago. There are dolls and trucks and castles and little soft animals that make him think of James. He keeps walking past bikes and scooters but Louis stops at the end of an aisle and plucks a black and white ball out of one of the barrels.

“Mine got busted a while back,” Louis says, tossing the ball in one hand. “Lost all the air inside when it got kicked into the street.”

There’s something in his eyes that says Louis wasn’t the one responsible but Harry doesn’t ask, just takes a few steps back and opens his hands in a silent request.

Louis drops the ball to the ground, and kicks it right into Harry’s waiting hands. Harry smiles, tries to do the same, and only gets about half a foot of air before it rolls the rest of the way to Louis.

“Never quite mastered that trick, no matter how long Niall spent with me,” Harry shrugs. Louis’ head tips slightly. “Oh, my mate that lives down the road.”

Louis doesn’t answer, just ushers Harry back and kicks it back across the floor. Harry peeks out the end of the aisle for any store clerks, but the coast is clear so he just catches the ball with the side of his foot, kicking it back.

They manage to keep it up for about five minutes, the space between them getting longer until they’re both poking out the ends of the aisle. Louis skips over to the next one and Harry has to dart across to get the ball. He’s about to kick it back when Louis’ head snaps to the right, and then he dashes down until he almost collides with Harry. He picks up the ball and pushes them a few more aisles over. Harry peeks around to see a store clerk scanning the area suspiciously before wandering away.

While they giggle softly against each other, Harry’s heart still gives an anxious flutter. “Maybe we should go.”

It’s more an effort to keep from getting in trouble than it is an attempt to get home sooner, but Harry quickly realises the consequence of his words. Louis’ still smiling as he tosses the ball between his palms. He hums.

“I’d quite like a ball again,” he muses. There’s a quiet confidence in his voice Harry’s come to associate with the moments leading up to a crime, and he tries to grab the ball out of his hands.

“Lou, no.”

“Why not? There’s a tonne of balls in that barrel, they won’t miss one.”

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Really, Harry, this place?” He waves his hand around generally. “They’re not gonna go out of business because of me. Don’t worry your curly head.”

Harry wants to protest but Louis’ already on the move, checking around every corner for any more store clerks or customers. He keeps on Louis’ heels, almost clipping them as Louis stops and pulls something else off the shelf.

It’s a plush, cuddly tiger the size of Harry’s hand. He turns and presses it into Harry’s chest, forcing him to take hold of it.

“A memento,” he smiles, and his cocky smirk is gone, replaced instead with warmth and maybe a little hope. Harry’s mind flashes back to the tiger pacing behind the glass.

As if Harry would forget any of this. Forget him.

Harry doesn’t want to take it—doesn’t want Louis to take the ball—but he keeps the tiger pressed to his shirt like it’s a gift, and not something Louis just plucked off a store shelf.

“Thank you,” he says, as if Louis were paying for it with his own money. Louis keeps smiling as if he had.

They get to the end of the toy section and start moving back through menswear. There are only one or two customers browsing the racks, so they keep going, Harry keeping the tiger fisted tightly at his side. Louis’s football is a little harder to slip by, and his head keeps whipping from side to side on high alert.

There’s a big gap in the middle of the menswear section with a few mannequins on display, and as they’re skirting around the edge, Harry hears a loud voice. His heartbeat skyrockets. They’ve been spotted by a woman with a tight ponytail and a lanyard around her neck.

Louis instantly drops the ball and takes off.

“Go!”

Harry has a sickening flashback to a recurring dream he’s had growing up. He’s in the middle of the road and a car is coming towards him at an alarming pace. He knows all he needs to do is move, but he can’t. His feet are locked in place and he watches the headlights get closer and brighter.

Louis’ voice echoes in his ears and the woman is shouting; Harry’s adrenaline finally catches up to his fear and he jolts, abandons the toy and moves.

His feet feel like they can’t get a rhythm and his shoulder knocks sharply into one of the racks. Louis is twenty paces ahead, moving at top speed, not looking back.

Just as the exit comes into sight there’s a pinching grip on Harry’s shoulder and he’s yanked back, almost pulled to the ground.

“Hey!”

The woman’s voice is sharp in his ear and her nails bite through his shirt as he struggles. She’s got him by both shoulders now, and her hold is strong enough that Harry knows there’s no escaping.

His heart is beating so hard that he feels like he can’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. He takes great, gulping breaths and tries not to cry when he feels the sting of tears.

“You’re not getting away with this,” the store clerk hisses. He tries to fight her off, less to escape at this point and more to try and get out from under her nails, but she doesn’t relent on her hold. Harry wishes there was someone else around to help him, just like the last time he was trapped. But Harry is well and truly alone this time.

Louis is gone.

The store clerk drags him toward the counter and keeps one hand firmly lodged in the meat of his shoulder as she reaches over to the phone with her other one. Her face sits somewhere between fury and vindication as she waits out the dial tone.

 

***

 

The room is close on all sides, cluttered with a grid of small screens and a desk of in- and out-trays. The walls are a sickening cream colour, like white that went bad in the sun.

Harry is cowering on an unsteady desk chair, fingers wrapped tightly around each other to keep from shaking. His sole company is the mall security guard that had come to collect him from Caeser’s. His skin feels like its vibrating, fear coursing through every cell in his body.

He doesn’t know if he’s being arrested or if he’ll be charged with something. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, or how long he’ll be here yet. He has no idea where he’ll go next. What happens to teenagers that shoplift? Where do they go? Is Harry going to be locked away with other juvenile delinquents? He’s on the brink of an unknown, and it’s the second time he’s faced a big question mark of a future. Both unknowns have one thing in common, though: he’s facing them alone.

The guard has already asked about Harry’s friend, the “one that got away.”

Louis feels like a gust of wind that blew him into this and then disappeared without a trace. Sitting here, Harry realises how much he depended on Louis from the moment he met him. There wasn’t a single second in the last two days when Louis wasn’t guiding him, _leading_ him.

Harry has no information to give, no matter how the guard presses.

Tears sting at Harry’s eyes because there’s no one to lead him now. It’s not the same as losing his parents, but once again, he’s lost the person that showed him the way, that made Harry feel safe.

Once again, he’s been left alone.

There’s a horrible, hopeless feeling in his heart that he’d prayed never to feel again.

The guard asks after Harry’s parents. Just for a second, Harry feels so alone that he doesn’t know what to say.

He gives the only number he can, and when the guard calls, a shrill voice answers.

 

***

 

Harry is face-down on his mattress, arms bracketed around his own head and trying to block out the world.

There’s noise seeping under his door from the rest of the house. A lot of noise. The twins are running up and down the hall, James is crying, and Aunt Sophie is trying to quieten him with reason.

Having Aunt Sophie collect him from the security guard’s office has to be one of the memories Harry would most like purged from his mind—and Harry has his fair share of memories to forget. It hadn’t felt like he was being saved from a terrible fate when she’d shown up. In his mind, he’s wanted to run to his rescuer, hug them and be told that he was safe now, that he was okay.

Instead, Aunt Sophie had looked like she was running an errand. She’d beckoned him out, leaving him to trail after her silently. Tegan, Val, and James had all been in the car waiting for them, and the ride home had been silent and full of pointed stares from the twins. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so ashamed of himself.

When they’d arrived home, Aunt Sophie had held the front door open for him with a pinched expression and no eye contact, and he had immediately disappeared into his room.

Even the comfort of his own space doesn’t seem to be enough to lighten the weight in his heart.

He just feels so humiliated. Looking back, he can’t believe he was so stupid. Shoplifting with someone he’d known a day. He’d been so caught up in it all: the free food, the illicit adventures, Louis. Most of all he knows its Louis he’d wanted to please; he’d wanted to be a good partner, a worthwhile companion. Harry had stepped foot into another world with Louis and the rules were different there—or that’s what Louis had made him believe. In reality, the rules were exactly the same and Harry had been the one to pay.

He can hear Aunt Sophie’s measured steps getting closer and he presses his forehead into the blanket.

The door swings open and he turns to see her standing quite still, her face somehow blank and yet betraying the conflict going on beneath the surface.

“Anne and Robin are on their way home,” she says, her tone even and to the point. It’s like she’s trying to share as few words between them as possible. “I called them after you took off. They’ve cut their holiday short and should be here tomorrow night.”

It’s the first eye contact they’d shared since he ran off at the park, and also the first time Harry gets a good look at her face since she picked him up. He notices the exaggerated bags under her eyes, the slight fatigue in her features, and he wonders if he put them there. If it could ever possibly be because she cares.

He nods, and she nods, and then he’s alone again. She doesn’t say anything about dinner, and he doesn’t leave his room for the rest of the afternoon.

By the time he lifts his head from the fold of his arms, the sky has already sunk into darkness. The horizon is highlighted a warm gold but there are stars blinking at him from above. He knows he should pull the curtains closed; Anne always tells him that as soon as the inside of the house is brighter than the outside, all the curtains should be pulled shut. She says people shouldn’t be able to see into their home. Harry always tuts under his breath when they drive past houses with their curtains open at night.

Tonight, though, he doesn’t pull them shut. He wants to be closer to the outside than the inside right now. He wants to feel like he’s halfway out of this place—this place that doesn’t have Anne or Robin, just a baby with a different last name and family that isn’t his.

He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars tacked to his ceiling. Two weeks after he moved in with the Twists, they’d taken him shopping. They told him they wanted his room to feel like home, and to get anything he liked. Harry hadn’t been sure anything would ever feel like home again, but he’d eventually settled on dark blue curtains with rockets whizzing about, a blue striped duvet, and a set of stars to keep him company in the dark. It had come to feel like home eventually, when the memory of his mother’s hugs had faded enough to let Anne’s hugs bring comfort. But now, Harry feels no sense of home from those stars. Now they just seem false, like this place, like these people, like this whole illusion built to trick him into thinking he could ever find what he’d lost again.

Harry isn’t sure how long he lies there. The strip of light across the horizon dims and even the house starts to grow quiet. He doesn’t turn on the light in his bedroom, allowing the stars, real and fake alike, to glow. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to do anything; he gets up once only to use the bathroom. On the way back to his room he crosses Tegan in the hall.

He tries not to look at her but when he hears, “Styles,” murmured under her breath his eyes snap up. She’s grinning triumphantly. He hurries past before she can say anything else, but he’s sure he hears an airy chuckle before his door whips shut.

There’s something that snaps inside him, a retaining wall of fear built up from the mall. It splits, and a dam starts to break in his chest, releasing a pressure that pushes at his ribs from the inside. It rises up his throat and catches in his mouth and before he can take another breath he’s crying.

It’s sudden and loud. Harry sits on his bed with his back to the window and stares into the darkness of his room, his hands fisted in the edge of the duvet. His throat swells, there’s so much sound trying to get out at once. His cheeks are warm and wet and Harry wipes at them, but it’s pointless.

It’s not just Tegan in the hall, or Aunt Sophie treating him like an invasive species. It’s not only the recurring reminder that there’s a new baby in the house that’s more a part of this family than he’ll ever be, or the fact that Anne isn’t here to remind him that he’s wrong. It’s everything on top of six years of doubt. It’s all of it, along with the fact that Harry hadn’t been sure he wanted to come back.

It’s the fact that he’s so scared Anne won’t want him here when she returns.

His throat starts to ache and he’s curled over enough that he’s staring at the darkness around his knees, black and blurred from tears. He thinks he hears a floorboard creak in the hallway and the air hitches in his throat, trying to be silent. There’s nothing, just Harry and his shaking hands as he takes gulping breaths to get air back into his lungs.

He’s still breathing heavily, but it eventually quietens enough that he hears a light _tap tap tap_ behind him. Harry turns around, wiping at his face so he can see a little better, and spots a shape outside his window.

He jumps, flinching back from the bed until he’s against the door. The figure is still tapping lightly on the window, and just as Harry’s hand reaches for the doorknob he recognises the wispy hair on the other side of the glass.

“Louis?”

He crawls over the mattress and pushes the window open. It glides to reveal Louis on the other side, standing in a rose bed so he only reaches the windowsill at his armpits.

“Thank God,” he breathes. “For a second I thought I had the wrong house.”

He looks like he’s trying to smile, one corner of his mouth lifting hesitantly, but his eyebrows are dipped with worry.

“How did you even find my house?” Harry asks, quickly looking up and down the street. Harry’s light is still off so neither of them form particularly suspicious silhouettes in his window.

“Only picket fence on the street, remember?”

Louis’ lips give up any hope of cheer as he wrings his hands together. Harry tries not to sniffle and give away that he’s been crying.

“Harry…”

“You left.”

“No, I—”

“You kept running, you knew I wasn’t behind you.”

“Fancy Pants—”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry snaps. “You don’t get to give me a nickname, we’re not friends.”

Louis wilts, curling in like Anne’s roses in winter.

“We _are_ friends, Harry.”

“Friends don’t leave friends behind. They don’t abandon them like that. You didn’t even look back.”

He suddenly realises he doesn’t want to hear anything Louis has to say. Whatever it is, it isn’t good enough, not for leaving him alone. It doesn’t stop Louis from trying though. His fingers grip the edge of the sill.

“Harry, please, you have to understand.” The corner of his lip wobbles. “I couldn’t get caught. You… if you get caught, you have a home to come back to. But me? I’ll be put back into the foster system if I’m ever caught. I don’t have a family to be brought back to.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t my family,” Harry says, and the words feel bitter on his tongue.

“I know, I—” Louis pauses, and only half his face in caught in the moonlight, but Harry can see the sad tilt of his eyes. “What I said was a bit harsh, but I was just trying to help you.”

“Help me? By making me feel like I wasn’t wanted and then leaving me to be arrested?” Sharp anger spikes in his chest and he wants to pry Louis’ hands off the windowsill. He wants to slam the window closed and draw the curtains, cut Louis off.

“I—I’m sorry.” Louis looks like he’s about to cry now too, and somehow that just makes Harry feel worse. “I’m _so_ sorry, I was just scared. I can’t go back into the foster system, I can’t do it. I never meant to make you feel unwanted or… or abandoned. I just…”

He seems to be running out of words the more they waver, but his fingers dig into the sill and he pulls himself closer. Harry can tell he’s on his tiptoes, unsteady in the soil.

“Didn’t we have fun?”

Harry doesn’t look at him, doesn’t want to admit he enjoyed a single second of their time together. Doesn’t want to give in.

“Aside from the night my parents died, this was the worst day of my life.”

Louis looks utterly devastated, sinking back as his grip loosens. But Harry doesn’t feel like being sympathetic. Instead, he reaches out and grabs the window latch, pulling it in. Louis’ hands snap back from the sill and he jumps out of the way.

“Harry, wait—”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Louis.”

“Please—”

“Leave me alone.”

The window snaps shut and he gets a final glimpse of Louis’ slumped form before he pulls the curtains closed, blocking out the real stars beyond his room.

Harry crawls under his duvet, pulls it up to his chin, and tries to swallow down everything threatening to come up.

 

***

 

Harry gives up on sleep when he sees the dim edges of early sunlight crawling along the hem of the curtains. He makes a quick trip out into the kitchen to retrieve an apple, where Aunt Sophie is feeding James. The twins don’t seem to be up yet. Aunt Sophie and he don’t speak, in fact they try very deliberately to ignore each other, and Harry returns to his room like he was never there at all.

He doesn’t know how long Louis stayed outside last night. He doesn’t know if Louis left the second he closed the curtains, or if he lingered for a while. Harry had been awake long after saying goodbye; there were a number of times he’d wanted to pull the curtains back and see if Louis was still there. He hadn’t, though, hadn’t wanted Louis to gain the upper hand—an upper hand that Harry now realises Louis’d had from the moment they’d met. Harry had followed after him like a dog on a leash, bought into every word he’d said, every flashy grin.

The problem is that, with the world waking up and the house coming alive with the sounds of a family that isn’t his, Harry knows that Louis’ words are still under his skin. He still feels the same fear he’d had before they’d even met. He’s still terrified he’ll be on the outside when Anne and Robin get home, that they won’t need him anymore now that they have their own son to raise.

Harry wants so badly not to wish that James didn’t exist.

Harry doesn’t really leave his room for the day. He goes out to eat; he makes a few trips to the bathroom. After a few hours, he opens his curtains a fraction and sees Niall and Liam strolling up the road, a football tucked under Niall’s arm as they go. They do glance at the house, and Liam cranes to check Harry’s window, but he doesn’t feel like he can face them right now.

This time yesterday, Harry’d been desperately wishing he could introduce them to Louis. Now he can’t bear the thought of them asking where he’s been.

He knows Anne and Robin will be home later that night, and his anger is starting to be replaced by nausea. His mind starts running a reel of possible scenarios, all sitting on a spectrum determined by how much they won’t want him when they get back.

First, he imagines them disappointed, passing him by without a hug or a kiss, merely shaking their heads.

Then he pictures them angry, yelling, grounding him.

He imagines them lamenting the fact that he’s their responsibility, wishing he were different, _more like them_.

He imagines them not wanting him at all, calling up the State to claim it didn’t work out like they’d hoped.

Before he knows it, the whole day has passed and his stomach is a pit of anxiety dug so deep he feels like he’ll be falling down it the rest of his life.

He eats a few bites of dinner so big they hurt when he gulps them down, and then disappears back into his room wishing sleep would swallow him up. He can’t help watching the minutes tick by, wondering how many he has left before Anne and Robin get back. They hadn’t given a precise time, just said they’d be home sometime in the night. He wishes more than anything he could skip over that first moment of seeing them again, just to be spared the possibility that they’re so disappointed in him they’d rather he just stayed away.

The sun sets and he closes the blinds, switches on his lamp and pulls _From the Earth to the Moon_ down from the shelf above his bed. He’s not hopeful, but he thinks perhaps Jules Verne can help get him out of his head.

It takes him over an hour to get through the first five pages, even longer to get to page ten, and Harry can’t ignore the way the pages shake in front of his eyes from his unsteady hands. He tries reading out loud to keep him focused but whenever footsteps slow in front of his door he drops back into silence, hoping he can stave off any further interaction.

It's not until the house is quiet and Harry’s sure everyone else has gone to bed that he puts the book down, wiping at his eyes because this distraction isn’t working. He can’t stop wondering whether he’ll still have a home tomorrow, whether his running away was all Anne and Robin needed to convince them it would be best if he lived somewhere else. He can’t stop wondering if he planted the very idea of him leaving into their minds, sabotaging himself.

The world is silent. Outside there are no cars or crickets. Inside there are no giggling girls or clicking heels. Harry feels quite alone—isn’t sure if he wants it to stay this way, or can’t bear it.

Before he can decide, he hears a weak whine that sounds a lot like James just before Anne is usually beckoned to the nursery. It’s rare that Harry would be able to hear him with the door closed, though, and for all his fears and regretful resentment, he sits up.

He listens for any sign of Aunt Sophie reacting to the baby, but James cries a second time and she doesn’t seem to be responding. She may not have turned the baby monitor on, or perhaps she’s in too deep a sleep. Harry has seen her nap in Robin’s armchair while Tegan and Val turned the volume obnoxiously loud, and not even Oprah’s hysterical audience could wake her.

He wipes a sleeve over his face and stands up, his socked feet quiet as he crosses to the door. The hallway is dark, as is the rest of the house, but Harry can see the door to the nursery is ajar.

He hears another, more urgent cry, and moves to the nursery quickly, pushing his way inside. He plans to pick James up, rock him a little, maybe give him a bottle or a change if he needs it. What he doesn’t plan on is seeing James in Val’s arms while Tegan tries to tug off his onesie.

“What are you doing?!”

Tegan and Val’s heads both whip around and Harry’s heart jolts as he notices Val’s fingers go ever so slightly slack under James’ arms. He moves forward but then Val has a tighter grip and Tegan is turning around with her arms crossed, an intimidating expression masking the fright from a moment earlier.

“What are _you_ doing?” she counters, and Harry doesn’t have time to heed her attitude because he can see James is still lightly crying, his arms flapping.

“You’re making him upset, he should be asleep.” Harry takes another step forward but Tegan takes one towards him, blocking his path.

“We’re just playing families. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

It stings, and he knows she sees it on his face, but he doesn’t acknowledge her because James is squirming and Val doesn’t look like she has a stable grip under his arms.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he says to Val this time, and Val looks like she’s valiantly trying to sneer but she’s struggling under James’ increasingly active limbs.

Harry tries to shove Tegan aside but she pushes him back. He’s too tall for her to knock over, but she does shove his shoulder painfully against the wall.

“Go cry some more, little orphan boy.” Her voice is high, climbing in volume from the effort of pushing him, but Harry just pushes back harder and this time she knocks into the crib, sending it toppling onto its side. It makes a loud bang, Tegan shouts in (what Harry assumes to be exaggerated) pain, and James squeals in fright. Harry tries to grab him out of Val’s hands but she waves him dangerously through the air to maintain her grip.

“You’re hurting him!” Harry shouts, and Val is shouting too, and he thinks Tegan might be shouting as well but the next thing he knows Val tries to elbow Harry away and her grip slips. Harry sees James drop out of view and his heart plummets.

Harry drops in an attempt to catch him. Tegan screams and Val yells in fright but when Harry dives to the ground he sees another pair of hands wrapped safely around James, patting him lightly as he cries.

Harry’s eyes lift to meet Louis’, who gives half a smile, a relieved puff spilling between his lips.

Harry’s so surprised that he can’t help laughing a little. He slumps on the ground with a gushing breath of relief.

“What’re you…?” Harry starts, words trailing into nothing.

“Left your window unlocked,” Louis grins.

It’s silent, all the madness cut away for one beautiful moment, even Harry’s anger put on hold as they look into each other’s eyes, and Louis rocks James in the safehold of his arms.

Their moment barely lasts a second before noise crashes in on all sides.

Val starts screaming as Tegan shouts, “There’s a stranger in the house! He’s going to hurt us!”

Harry spins around from his place on the floor, glowering at her.

“He just saved James’ life, he’s not going to hurt anyone!”

“Stranger! Stranger!” She continues to screech, and Val is still screaming, and Harry tries to tell her how wrong she is but he can barely be heard. He’s only just on his feet again and holding his hands out in a placating manner when the Aunt Sophie rushes in, slamming the door against the wall.

Louis is on his feet too now and he flinches back as Aunt Sophie points an accusing finger at him.

“How dare you! The baby!”

Louis looks petrified, and when he locks eyes with Harry he tries to hand James off immediately to spare himself.

“I’m calling the police!”

“It’s okay,” Harry tries to interject, but there are too many hysterical voices in the room. “He’s a friend! It’s okay, he saved James from getting hurt!”

Tegan and Val have rushed past to cower behind them mother, and Harry is tempted to roll his eyes as they simper into her waist. Acting like they’d been in mortal danger.

“He’s not a stranger, I know him,” Harry tries again.

“I’m sorry, I promise I—” Louis starts, but Aunt Sophie takes a threatening step forward and he backs into the room, silenced.

“Give me the baby right now,” Aunt Sophie demands, holding her arms out to Harry without taking her eyes off Louis.

Harry does as she asks, but when she says, “Go to your room,” he stands his ground.

“Aunt Sophie, Louis’ not a stranger. Val almost dropped James and Louis caught him!”

“Go—to—your—room,” she repeats.

Harry moves to stand in front of Louis but Aunt Sophie catches his arm. He remembers the power in her fingers.

“He just saved James!”

“I don’t want to hear another word.” Her voice seems to magnify itself, like she’s on a loud speaker. Louis’ eyebrows have a fearful, apologetic tilt to them and he holds up his hands, taking one slow step forward. Tegan screams again and he moves back.

Harry tries to pull out of Aunt Sophie’s grip but she pulls his back. Harry doesn’t want to fight too hard while she’s got James held to her chest.

The next ten seconds happen quickly. With all but Louis clear of the nursery, Aunt Sophie pushes past Harry and pulls the door shut. He sees Louis taking a rushed step forward but then there’s a key Harry doesn’t even know exists turning in the lock and Louis is trapped.

“I’m calling the police!” she shouts again, and Harry tries to pull the door open, knowing full well it won’t budge, but unable to stop himself.

“No! Please!” Louis’ words are muffled but still clear. “Please! I’ll leave, please don’t call—”

“Enough! Enough!”

James is wailing, Tegan and Val are clutching each other, and Harry tries to grab the key from Aunt Sophie’s fist but misses.

“Don’t call the police,” he begs. He can still hear Louis’ pleas through the door. “He doesn’t have a home, he can’t go with the police!”

“You let a homeless delinquent into this house,” she shrieks. “You put all of us in danger!”

“He’s not dangerous, he helped me.” He follows her into the kitchen.

“So that’s where you’ve been? Running around causing trouble with that boy? I knew Robin never should’ve taken you in. They’ve no idea the kinds of troubled children the foster system introduces into good homes. Healthy homes.”

Harry freezes. He feels like his heart is frozen as well. He watches Aunt Sophie put James down into a rocker, still crying and unsoothed. She picks up the phone and dials, pressing it to her ear, and when she turns to look back at him there’s no warmth there. She’s completely cold.

He goes back into the hall, leaving everyone behind. He can hear the phone dial out and he turns back to the nursery door. It’s quiet on the other side, but Harry can see a break in the line of light underneath the door and knows Louis is standing right there.

He leans his head against the doorframe. “Louis, are you okay?”

“Is she calling them?”

Harry can hear Aunt Sophie’s hushed but urgent tone from the kitchen, punctuated by James’ unrest. He takes a deep breath, throat thick. “Yeah.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. When Harry strains his ears he hears quickening breaths through the door, and crowds closer in solidarity.

“Why are you here, Louis?”

It isn’t what he’d been planning to say but it comes out without his permission. Louis’ breath catches.

“Came back to try and get you to forgive me.” His tone is rueful. “I heard yelling, thought I heard you, too, so I climbed in the window.”

Harry lets out a watery, monosyllabic laugh.

There’s one deep, harsh breath that sounds like its pressed right into the doorjamb. “I… I don’t want to go back.”

Harry wishes he could just reach out and take Louis’ hand the way Louis had done so many times. Wishes that in Louis’ moment of need, he could be the comfort Harry has come to know. He taps his fingernail lightly on the door.

“I’m going to help you.”

Twenty minutes later, Aunt Sophie escorts two policemen down the hall and unlocks the nursery. Harry doesn’t fight, doesn’t think anyone in the room is inclined to listen to him. When the door swings open, Louis is sitting with his back to the opposite wall, cheek resting on his knee, and when he looks up his face is hollow. Harry feels a little cold inside; he’s never seen Louis look that way, so devoid of life. He stands when the policemen say and lets them lead him out, one of them keeping a firm grip on his shoulder.

Harry tries to meet his eyes but Louis keeps his gaze trained to the floor, and Aunt Sophie proceeds to follow the officers out with a monologue on the homeless problem in this town.

Just as Louis disappears beneath the flashing blue and red lights, Anne and Robin make a hasty turn into the driveway.

Harry freezes in the entryway. He can’t move, petrified by the two dark figures behind the windshield. There’s not enough time for him to prepare, to build up a protective wall around his heart and save himself from the crush of Anne’s disapproval, or Robin’s regret in six years of adoption. He doesn’t have time to run and hide or at least disappear around the corner before Anne explodes out the passenger door, hair loose and eyes wide as they instantly lock onto Harry.

He’s worried his heart is beating so hard it’s visible through the thin cotton of his shirt, and he opens his mouth to breathe, to try and take his last gulp of air before he has to face whatever comes next.

Anne dashes up the drive, past Aunt Sophie, through the door and wraps herself around Harry.

The air stutters in his throat, brushes back against his face when it all gushes out in shock against Anne’s chest. Her arms are wrapped across his shoulders, one hand buried in his hair, and he can feel her heart pounding against her cheek. He lets his hands settle on her waist.

“Harry, my love, are you okay?”

She pulls back just enough to look down at him, and he sees tears marring the clear brown of her eyes. He doesn’t know what to say—has forgotten how to speak—and just nods, as she blurs behind his own tears.

Harry’s paralysing fear of having to face them after everything is conquered only by his hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll have someone in his corner again.

She’s so incredibly warm. It’s like he’s forgotten what warmth feels like since she left. She rests one hand against his cheek, pulling him back in, and thick emotion starts climbing up his throat.

Aunt Sophie walks inside past them. Her steps don’t slow to take in the scene, but when Anne asks after James, Aunt Sophie assures her that he’s safe.

Robin stumbles inside a moment later and Harry feels his heavy hand against his back.

“You alright, son?” And Harry’s heart just about breaks at how relieved he is to hear Robin say that, _exactly_ that. “You gave us a right scare.”

“What’s going on, Harry? Where were you?” The three of them pull back when Anne’s questions start, but their hands stay on him. He swallows to clear his throat, hopes his voice is still intact.

“I…” It’s a moment that exists only in the moments before sleep, the last conscious seconds when fear creeps in and everything you doubt gets a chance to run through your mind, when your walls are down and no one but you is there to see it. It’s a moment Harry’s had countless times in the last six years, and there are a lot of things he could say right now, with his adoptive parents looking at him like they’re genuinely glad to see him, but only one thing manages to come out.

“I was scared you didn’t want me anymore.”

Anne’s eyebrows dip and Robin’s mouth forms wordless confusion. Thankfully Aunt Sophie is still tucked back in the kitchen and the twins are nowhere to be seen, so there are no extra ears that need to be privy to Harry’s deepest fears.

“What… why would you think that?” Anne’s hands cup his jaw and she tries to meet his eyes but Harry is staring determinedly at her chin. “Why would you leave?”

“I don’t—” Harry isn’t sure he can verbalise all the thoughts that had been running through his head that day at the park. “James—”

There’s a split second of understanding that crosses both their faces and Harry realises how wrong he was.  

There are months of fear that have built up since Anne announced she was pregnant, that grew as she did, and manifested in the form of their newborn baby. Looking at them now, Harry is a little ashamed that he’d pinned them for people who would be so flippant with their feelings as to stop caring about him just because they had a child. He’s spent a lot of time convincing himself that emotion is a thing one cannot control, and his parents would not need to make the choice to love him less—it would just happen. Looking at them now, he doesn’t think he can disrespect them by telling them he ever thought they would.

“I made a mistake,” he says instead, and his voice only wobbles once. “I love you both. I never want to leave.”

“We wouldn’t want you to,” Robin says, cupping the side of his head with a solid hand.

Anne pulls him in tight, one hand scratching soothingly at his scalp, and Robin’s firm grip slips to his shoulder—a constant Harry hopes never to lose.

As it turns out, Harry doesn’t need to tell them anything. Anne guesses it for herself.

“You’re irreplaceable, Harry.” She cups his face in her hands once more and forces him to meet her eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. He just nods as she wipes a stray tear with her thumb.

James cries from somewhere deep in the house, and it pulls Harry out of the moment, brings him back to the present. The last half hour runs through his head and it jolts him into action.

He takes a quick step out of Anne’s hold and she goes to speak but he gets there first.

“We need to help Louis.”

 

***

 

Harry has never seen the inside of a police station before, outside of TV. He thinks the depictions are fairly accurate other than the hordes of criminals usually being paraded across the screen. This police station is strangely peaceful, only a couple of seats occupied by a few patient individuals, and an officer sitting behind a service desk.

Anne walks in ahead and approaches the desk.

Harry can’t see any jail cells and figures they must be hidden around the back. He glides his palms down the sides of his pants, wiping the damp nerves from his skin. He doesn’t even know if Louis’ still here—hopes the system isn’t efficient enough to have shuttled him on already. He isn’t sure if the image of Louis in the backseat of a social worker’s car or one of him locked behind bars is worse.

The officer behind the desk shuffles through some papers, gets to his feet and speaks into an intercom on the wall. Harry’s ears are buzzing and the only word he hears is ‘juvenile.’ Everything else fades behind the white noise in his head.

When the officer hands Anne a clipboard and nods, Harry’s heart jolts with hope. Robin is still standing by Harry’s side, foot tapping in time to the soft music coming from somewhere above them. He meets Harry’s eyes briefly and nods in some sort of confirmation.

They continue to stand in relative silence, the officer clicking around on his computer while Anne finishes filling in some forms. When she hands them back the officer disappears down a hallway that turns a secretive corner. Harry cranes his neck uselessly in an effort to see what’s back there, his ears peeled for the sounds of bars or cuffs, or any other sort of metal often associated with incarceration.

Robin begins pacing the small foyer, hands clasped behind his back and his steps patient, time-passing. Anne walks back to Harry and gives his cheek a light tap with her fingers, smiling lightly.

Harry twists his own fingers around the hem of his shirt, waiting, waiting, waiting.

There had been a lot of questions, a lot of confusion, but Harry had managed to explain that he’d been with Louis for his missing night. He’d spared some of the details, confident that Anne didn’t need to hear that he’d slept in an abandoned train station. Aunt Sophie had her fair share of comments to say on Louis’ behalf, and nothing had scared Harry more than the possibility that her words would’ve been more important than his.

He’d been utterly relieved that Anne and Robin had allowed him to counter everything she’d said, had listened to him give the truth, and taken him at his word. Aunt Sophie hadn’t been too pleased, but had lived up to Harry’s long-standing memories of her irritable silence. She’d already been packing and preparing to leave when they’d left for the station.

The fact that Anne and Robin had believed him, trusted him, and trusted Louis just by virtue of Harry’s word is worth more than all the fears he’s had to face in the last few days, weeks, years. He feels loved, and heard, and like he’s worth believing. It’s everything he’d forgotten since James had been born, and especially since Aunt Sophie had come to stay. He spares his parents a brief glance, takes in the fact that they’re all here, for Louis, but mostly for him. 

He’s just letting his eyes slip so that his vision becomes unfocused when they hear a door close somewhere around the corner, and everything snaps back into sharp focus. There are footsteps coming closer, so loud in Harry’s mind as he shuts everything else out.

The officer from behind the desk returns, doesn’t say a word, just sits down in his chair. Harry’s eyes turn back to the hall, and he can still hear footsteps. Just as his foot itches to step forward in impatience, Louis comes around the corner.

He’s being escorted by another officer. He doesn’t appear to have handcuffs or any other signs of his arrest on him. His face is still blank, empty, just like it had been back at the house, but when he looks up and sees Harry, his mouth drops open.

“Paperwork’s all sorted. He’s in your custody,” the police officer at Louis’ flank says. Robin thanks him and the officer nods once more before disappearing down the hall, leaving Louis alone and looking somewhat exposed.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, and Louis’ face almost drops with relief before his eyes dart between Anne and Robin.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t come any closer.

Harry closes the gap instead.

“It’s okay, I explained everything,” he says, but Louis doesn’t seem soothed. “They know you saved James, that you helped me. You’re not in trouble, and you’re not going back to your old foster home.”

His eyes snap back to Harry’s and there’s an unsaid question sitting behind them.

“You can trust them,” Harry says.

Louis’ breathing is even but his eyes keep glancing at Anne and Robin over his shoulder. Harry looks back and they’re half smiling, Anne’s eyes soft like he remembers them being when he’d first met her six years ago.

He turns back to Louis and rest one hand gently on his arm.

“Trust _me_.”

 

***

 

It’s a surprisingly warm day and Harry kicks off his sheet, a relief of air washing over his legs. The late morning sun is hitting the other side of the house—hasn’t yet reached his window—and he’s glad, because it makes lying late in bed much more enjoyable. He lays his book facedown to keep his place and shuffles to the edge of the mattress, jumping down.

Ever since moving the bunk beds into his room, he can only ever open the window from the bottom bunk. The latch is too low to reach from his bed on top.

Cool air washes in from between the roses now blooming under his window, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to the street where two boys are waving for his attention.

Niall has a football under his arm and Liam’s eyebrows are so high they’ve disappeared beneath his curly fringe. He tips his head back to beckon Harry outside, and Harry nods, holding up a palm to give himself a minute.

Rolling off the bottom bunk, Harry kneels and pulls the first pair of shoes he can reach (it takes a few goes to get two that match). He’s halfway through lacing them up when rowdy footsteps echo up the hall.

Louis appears in the doorway, hair fluffed and sparkling suspiciously like it holds pieces of tinsel.

“There’s one for me,” he says, his eyes wide.

“One what?” Harry frowns from the floor.

“A present. Under the tree. There’s one for me.” He looks stunned, a little confused, and mostly like he’s trying not to get prematurely excited.

“Well, of course there is, everyone in the family gets a present,” Harry says, standing up straight and walking to the door.

It had taken a couple of weeks for Louis to stop sparing Anne and Robin suspicious looks every time they walked into the room. He’s still surprised when he, Harry, and James all received equal treatment, is still surprised when he’s included in trips to the mall, or when he’s asked his opinion on what to have for dinner.

The first night they’d moved the bunk beds into Harry’s room, Louis had made a fort around the bottom bunk and called Harry down after everyone had gone to sleep. He’d warned Harry not to be too upset when he was gone, that it wasn’t his fault. Harry had silenced him instantly, demanded he settle in instead of keeping himself separate every time they all watched television together in the lounge room or insisted he borrow Harry’s clothes temporarily instead of letting Anne buy him his own.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he’d smiled. Louis hadn’t bought it at the time, but it’s weeks on and Harry can tell he’s not as skittish anymore, lets himself exist in the shared space. He even asks Anne to cook things he particularly enjoyed last time.

He’d kissed Harry that night, in the fort, just a quick press of lips followed by a nervous gust of breath. Harry’d been so stunned that he’d only reflected the pink of Louis’ cheeks. He’s been looking for an opportunity to repay the favour ever since.

Anne and Robin had been trusted to take him in after their positive fostering experience with Harry, and while entering the system had been the last thing on Louis’ long list of wishes, having Harry there to take him away from the police station hadn’t felt much like re-entering the system he’d hated for so long. And while nothing is set in stone yet, Harry’s sure Louis will be just as loved and permanent as he’s become.

Now, Louis’ face is open with wonder. The only thing weighing down the corners of his mouth is his utter disbelief. “Family,” he repeats.

Harry lifts a stern finger and waggles it in front of Louis’ furrowed brow. “No opening your presents early, though, Anne doesn’t like that. One year she took back what she got me so I’d still have a surprise on Christmas morning.”

Louis’ mouth quirks. “You were a rascal long before I met you, Fancy Pants.”

“You’ve no idea,” Harry grins, standing to meet his eyes. “Come on, there’s a couple of friends I want you to meet.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://dearmrsawyer.tumblr.com).
> 
> [Here's](http://dearmrsawyer.tumblr.com/post/160078317008) the tumblr post for my fic! Please share :)


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